LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

ANNA  B.  LEFLER,  M.D. 
in  memory  of 
GRACE  LEFLER,  Librarian 


VOLUME  I 

Masterpieces  of 
American  Wit  and  Humor 


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Masterpieces  of 
American  Wit  and  Humor 

Edited  by  Thomas  L-  Masson 

VOLUME  I 


By 


Washington  Irving 
Benjamin  Franklin 
"Mark  Twain" 
James  T.  Fields 


Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 
"Josh  Billings" 
Charles  Dudley  Warner 
Henry  Ward  Beecher 


and  others 


*£ 


GARDEN    CITY,    NEW    YORK    &    TORONTO 

DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1921 


Copyright,  190:5,  by 

DoUBLEDAY,    PAGE  &    COMPANY 


PRINTED  AT  GARDEN'  CITY.  N.  Y.,  U.  S.  A. 


/  ,wH  UNIVEP-  - 

(d  I  b    /  SA 

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

Acknowledgments    are    made    herewith    tc 

the     following     publishers,     who     have     kindly 

consented    to    allow    the    reproduction    of    the 

material  designated: 

F.  A.  Stokes  &  Company,  New  York:  "A  Rhyme 
for  Priscilla,"  F.  D.  Sherman;  "The  Bohe- 
mians of  Boston,"  Gelett  Burgess;  "A  Kiss 
in  the  Rain,"  "Bessie  Brown,  M.D.,"  S.  M. 
Peck. 

Dodd,  Mead  &  Company,  New  York:  Four 
Extracts,  E.  W.  Townsend  ("Chimmie 
Fadden"). 

Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis:  "The 
Elf  Child,"  "A  Liz-Town  Humorist,"  James 
Whitcomb  Riley. 

Lee  &  Shepard,  Boston:  "The  Meeting  of  the 
Clabberhuses,"  "A  Philosopher,"  "The  Ideal 
Husband  to  His  Wife,"  "The  Prayer  of 
Cyrus  Brown,"  "A  Modern  Martyrdom," 
S.  W.  Foss;  "After  the  Funeral,"  "What 
He  Wanted  It  For,"  J.  M.  Bailey. 

Bacheller,  Johnson  &  Bacheller,  New  York: 
"The  Composite  Ghost,"  Marion  Couthouy 
Smith. 

D.  Appleton  &  Company,  New  York:  "Illus- 
trated Newspapers,"  "Tushmaker's  Tooth- 
puller,"    G.   H.   Derby    ("John   Phoenix"). 


Acknowledgments 

T  B.  Peterson  &  Company,  Philadelphia: 
"Hans  Breitmann's  Party,"  "Ballad,"  0.  G. 
Lei  and. 

Century  Company,  New  York:  "Miss  Malony 
on  the  Chinese  Question,"  Mary  Mapes 
Dodge;  "The  Origin  of  the  Banjo,"  Irwin 
Russell;  "The  Walloping  Window-blind," 
Charles  E.  Carryl;  "The  Patriotic  Tourist," 
"What's  in  a  Name?"  '"Tis  Ever  Thus," 
R.  K.  Munkittrick. 

Forbes  &  Company,  Chicago:  "If  I  Should  Die 
To-night,"   "The  Pessimist,"  Ben  King. 

J.  S.  Ogilvie  &  Company,  New  York:  Three 
Short  Extracts,  0.  B.  Lewis  ("Mr.  Bowser"). 

The  Chelsea  Company,  New  York:  "The 
Society  Reporter's  Christmas,"  "The  Dying 
Gag,"  James  L.  Ford. 

Keppler  &  Schwarzmann,  New  York :  "Love 
Letters  of  Smith,"  H.  C.  Bunner. 

Small,  Maynard  &  Company,  Boston:  "On 
Gold- seeking,"  "On  Expert  Testimony," 
F.  P.  Dunne  ("Mr.  Dooley");  "Tale  of  the 
Kennebec  Mariner,"  "Grampy  Sings  a 
Song,"  "Cure  for  Homesickness,"  Holman 
F.  Day. 

Belford,  Clarke  &  Company,  Chicago:  "A 
Fatal  Thirst,"  "On  Cyclones,"  Bill  Nye. 

Duquesne  Distributing  Company,  Harman- 
ville,  Pennsylvania:  "In  Society,"  William 
J.  Kountz,  Jr.  (from  the  bound  edition  of 
"Billy  Baxter's  Letters"). 


Acknowledgments 

R.  H.  Russell,  New  York:  Nonsense  Verses  — 
"Impetuous  Samuel,"  "Misfortunes  Never 
Come  Singly,"  "Aunt  Eliza,"  "Susan"; 
"The  City  as  a  Summer  Resort,"  "Avarice 
and  Generosity,"  "Work  and  Sport,"  "Home 
Life  of  Geniuses,"  F.  P.  Dunne  ("Mr. 
Dooley") ;  "My  Angeline,"  Harry  B.  Smith. 

H.  S.  Stone  &  Company,  Chicago:  "The 
Preacher  Who  Flew  His  Kite,"  "The  Fable 
of  the  Caddy,"  "The  Two  Mandolin  Play- 
ers," George  Ade. 

American  Publishing  Company,  Hartford: 
"A  Pleasure  Exertion,"  "An  Unmarried 
Female,"  Marietta  Holley;  "Colonel  Sel- 
lers," Mark  Twain. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  New  York:  "Living 
in  the  Country,"  "A  Glass  of  Water," 
"A  Family  Horse,"  F.  S.  Cozzens. 

George  Dillingham,  New  York:  "Natral 
and  Unnatral  Aristokrats,"  "To  Corre- 
spondents," "The  Bumblebee,"  Josh 
Billings;  "Among  the  Spirits,"  "The 
Shakers,"  "A.  W.  to  His  Wife,"  "Artemus 
Ward  and  the  Prince  of  Wales,"  "A  Visit 
to  Brigham  Young,"  "The  Tower  of 
London,"  "One  of  Mr.  Ward's  Business 
Letters,"  "On  'Forts',"  Artemus  Ward; 
"At  the  Musicale,"  "At  the  Races,"  Geo. 
V.    Hobart    ("John   Henry"). 

Thompson  &  Thomas,  Chicago:  "How  to 
Hunt  the  Fox,"    Bill   Nye. 


Acknowledgments 

Little,  Brown  &  Company,  Boston:  "Street 
Scenes  in  Washington,"  Louisa  May  Alcott. 

E.  H.  Bacon  &  Company,  Boston:  "A  Boston 
Lullaby,"  James  Jeffrey  Roche. 

Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Company,  Boston: 
"My  Aunt,"  "Contentment,"  "Latter- 
day  Warnings,"  "Foreign  Correspondence," 
"Music-pounding"  (extract),  "The  Ballad 
of  the  Oysterman,"  "Dislikes"  (short 
extract)  "The  Height  of  the  Ridiculous," 
"An  Aphorism  and  a  Lecture,"  O.  W. 
Holmes;  "The  Yankee  Recruit,"  "What  Mr. 
Robinson  Thinks,"  "A  Letter:  Biglow 
Papers,"  "A  Letter  from  Mr.  Ezekiel  Big- 
low,"  "Without  and  Within,"  J.  R.  Lowell; 
"Eve's  Daughter,"  E.  R.  Sill;  "The  Owl- 
critic,"  "The  Alarmed  Skipper,"  James 
T.  Fields;  "My  Summer  in  a  Garden," 
"Plumbers,"  "How  I  Killed  a  Bear,"  C. 
D.  Warner;  "Little  Breeches,"  John  Hay; 
"The  Stammering  Wife,"  "Coquette,"  "My 
Familiar,"  "Early  Rising,"  J.  G.  Saxe;  "The 
Diamond  Wedding,"  E.  C.  Stedman;  ".Mel- 
ons," "Society  Upon  the  Stanislaus,"  "The 
Heathen  Chinee,"  "To  the  Pliocene  Skull," 
"Her  Letters,"  Bret  Harte;  "The  Total 
Depravity  of  Inanimate  Things,"  K.  K.  C. 
Walker;  "Palabras  Grandiosas,"  Bayard 
Taylor;  "Mrs.  Johnson,"  William  Dean 
Howells;  "A  Plea  for  Humor,"  Agnes 
P.epplier;  "The  Minister's  Wrooing,"  Harriet 
Be?eher  Stowe. 


Acknowledgments 

In  addition,  the  Editor  desires  to  make  his 
personal  acknowledgments  to  the  following 
authors:  F.  P.  Dunne,  Mary  Mapes  Dodge, 
Gelett  Burgess,  R.  K.  Munkittrick,  E.  W. 
Townsend,  F.  D.  Sherman. 

For  such  small  paragraphs,  anecdotes  and 
witticisms  as  have  been  used  in  these  volumes, 
acknowledgment  is  hereby  made  to  the  follow- 
ing newspapers  and  periodicals: 

Chicago  Record,  Boston  Globe,  Texas  Siflings, 
New  Orleans  Times  Democrat,  Providence  Journal, 
New  York  Evening  Sun,  Atlanta  Constitution, 
Macon  Telegraph,  New  Haven  Register,  Chicago 
Times,  Analostan  Magazine,  Harper's  Bazar, 
Florida  Citizen,  Saturday  Evening  Post,  Chicago 
Times  Herald,  Washington  Post,  Cleveland  Plain 
Dealer,  New  York  Tribune,  Chicago  Tribune, 
Pittsburg  Bulletin,  Philadelphia  Ledger,  Youth's 
Companion,  Harper's  Magazine,  Duluth  Evening 
Herald,  Boston  Medical  and  Surgical  Journal, 
Washington  Times,  Rochester  Budget,  Bangor 
News,  Boston  Herald,  Pittsburg  Dispatch,  Chris- 
tian Advocate,  Troy  Times,  Boston  Beacon,  New 
Haven  News,  New  York  Herald,  Philadelphia 
Call,  Philadelphia  News,  Erie  Dispatch,  Town 
Topics,  Buffalo  Courier,  Life,  San  Francisco  Wave, 
Boston  Home  Journal,  Puck,  Washington  Hatchet, 
Detroit  Free  Press,  Babyhood,  Philadelphia  Press, 
Judge  New  York  Sun,  Minneapolis  Journal, 
San  Francisco  Argonaut,  St.  Louis  Sunday  Globe, 
Atlanta  Constitution,  Buffalo  Courier,  New  York 
Weekly,  Starlight  Messenger  (St.  Peter,  Minn.). 


CONTENTS 


WASHINGTON  IRVING 

PAGE 

Wouter  Van  Twiller 3 

Wilhelmus  Kieft 10 

Peter  Stuy  vesant 15 

Antony  Van  Corlear 17 

General  Van  Poffenburgh 20 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 

Maxims 23 

Model  of  a  Letter  of  Recommendation  of  a 

Person  You  Are  Unacquainted  with.  .  .  23 

Epitaph  for  Himself 24 

WILLIAM  ALLEN  BUTLER 

Nothing  to  Wear 26 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER 

Deacon  Marble 41 

The  Deacon's  Trout 43 

The  Dog  Noble  and  the  Empty  Hole 45 

ALBERT  GORTON  GREENE 

Old  Grimes 47 

xii 


Contents 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

PAGB 

My  Aunt . .  51 

Latter-day  Warnings 65 

Contentment 66 

Foreign  Correspondence , . .  1 08 

Music- Pounding ...  in 

The  Ballad  of  the  Oysterman 144 

NATHANIEL  PARKER  WILLIS 

Miss  Albina  McLush 53 

Love  in  a  Cottage 127 

WILLIAM  PITT  PALMER 

A  Smack  in  School , 58 

B.  P.  SHILLABER  ("Mrs.  Partington") 

Fancy  Diseases 60 

Bailed  Out 61 

Seeking  a  Comet 61 

Going  to  California 62 

Mrs.  Partington  in  Court 63 

EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

Five  Lives 70 

JAMES  T.  FIELDS 

The  Owl-Critic 72 

The  Alarmed  Skipper 106 

JOHN  HAY 

Little  Breeches 76 

xiii 


Contents 

PAGE 

HENRY  W.  SHAW  ("Josh  Billings") 
Natral  and  Unnatral  Aristokrats 79 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 

The  Yankee  Recruit 83 

What  Mr.  Robinson  Thinks 172 

CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER 
My  Summer  in  a  Garden 92 

FREDERICK  S.  COZZENS 
Living  in  the  Country 113 

CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND 
Hans  Breitmann's  Party 129 

FRANCES  M.  WHICHER 
Tim  Crane  and  the  Widow 131 

JOHN  GODFREY  SAXE 
The  Stammering  Wife 137 

ANDREW  V.  KELLEY  ("Parmenas  Mix") 
He  Came  to  Pay 141 

MARIETTA  HOLLEY 
A  Pleasure  Exertion 146 

EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN 

The  Diamond  Wedding 164 

xiv 


Contents 


SAMUEL  L.  CLEMENS  ("Mark  Twain") 

PAGE 

The  Notorious  Jumping  Frog  of  Calaveras 

County 179 

MISCELLANEOUS 

Why    He    Left 25 

A  Boy's  Essay  on  Girls 40 

Identified 49 

One  Better 50 

A   Rendition 59 

A  Cause  for  Thanks 75 

Crowded 105 

The  Wedding  Journey 107 

A  Case  of  Conscience 128 

He  Rose  to  the  Occasion 138 

Polite 139 

Lost,  Strayed  or  Stolen.  - 140 

A  Gentle  Complaint 143 

Music  by  the  Choir 175 


xv 


INTRODUCTION 

This  anthology  of  American  Humor  repre- 
sents a  process  of  selection  that  has  been  going 
on  for  more  than  fifteen  years,  and  in  giving  it 
to  the  public  it  is  perhaps  well  that  the  Editor 
should  precede  it  with  a  few  words  of  explana- 
tion as  to  its  meaning  and  scope. 

Not  only  all  that  is  fairly  representative  of  the 
work  of  our  American  humorists,  from  Wash- 
ington Irving  to  "Mr.  Dooley,"  has  been  gath- 
ered together,  but  also  much  that  is  merely 
fugitive  and  anecdotal.  Thus,  in  many  instances 
literary  finish  has  been  ignored  in  order  that 
certain  characteristic  and  purely  American  bits 
should  have  their  place.  The  Editor  is  not 
unmindful  of  the  danger  of  this  plan.  For 
where  there  is  such  a  countless  number  of  wit- 
ticisms (so-called)  as  are  constantly  coming  to 
the  surface,  and  where  so  many  of  them  are 
worthless,  it  must  always  take  a  rare  discrimina- 
tion to  detect  the  genuine  from  the  false.  This 
difficulty  is  greatly  increased  by  the  difference 
of  opinion  that  exists,  even  among  the  elect, 
with  regard  to  the  merit  of  particular  jokes. 
To  paraphrase  an  old  adage,  what  is  one 
man's  laughter  may  be  another  man's  dirge. 
The  Editor  desires  to  make  it  plain,  however, 
that  the  responsibility  in  this  particular  instance 
xvii 


Introduction 

is  entirely  his  own.  He  has  made  his  selections 
without  consulting  any  one,  knowing  that  if 
a  consultation  of  experts  should  attempt  to 
decide  about  the  contents  of  a  volume  of  Ameri- 
can humor,  no  volume  would  ever  be  published. 
The  reader  will  doubtless  recognize,  in  this 
anthology,  many  old  friends.  He  may  also  be 
conscious  of  omissions.  These  omissions  are 
due  either  to  the  restrictions  of  publishers,  or 
the  impossibility  of  obtaining  original  copies,  or 
the  limited  space. 


WASHINGTON  IRVING 

WOUTER  VAN  TWILLER 

IT  was  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1629  that 
Mynheer  Wouter  Van  Twiller  was  ap- 
pointed Governor  of  the  province  of 
Nieuw  Nederlandts,  under  the  commission  and 
control  of  their  High  Mightinesses  the  Lords 
States  General  of  the  United  Netherlands,  and 
the  privileged  West  India  Company. 

This  renowned  old  gentleman  arrived  at  New 
Amsterdam  in  the  merry  month  of  June,  the 
sweetest  month  in  all  the  year;  when  dan  Apollo 
beems  to  dance  up  the  transparent  firmament  — 
when  the  robin,  the  thrush,  and  a  thousand  other 
wanton  songsters  make  the  woods  to  resound 
with  amorous  ditties,  and  the  luxurious  little 
bob-lincoln  revels  among  the  clover  blossoms  of 
the  meadows  —  all  which  happy  coincidences 
persuaded  the  old  dames  of  New  Amsterdam 
who  were  skilled  in  the  art  of  foretelling  events, 
that  this  was  to  be  a  happy  and  prosperous 
administration. 

The  renowned  Wouter  (or  Walter)  Van  Twiller 
was  descended  from  a  long  line  of  Dutch  burgo- 
masters, who  had  successively  dozed  away  their 
lives  and  grown  fat  upon  the  bench  of  magis- 
tracy in  Rotterdam,  and  who  had  comported 
themselves    with    such    singular    wisdom    and 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

propriety  that  they  were  never  either  heard  01 
talked  of  —  which,  next  to  being  universally 
applauded,  should  be  the  object  of  ambition  of 
all  magistrates  and  rulers.  There  are  two 
opposite  ways  by  which  some  men  make  a  figure 
in  the  world;  one,  by  talking  faster  than  they 
think,  and  the  other,  by  holding  their  tongues 
and  not  thinking  at  all.  By  the  first,  many  a 
smatterer  acquires  the  reputation  of  a  man  of 
quick  parts;  by  the  other,  many  a  dunderpate, 
like  the  owl,  the  stupidest  of  birds,  comes  to  be 
considered  the  very  type  of  wisdom.  This,  by 
the  way,  is  a  casual  remark,  which  I  would  not, 
for  the  universe,  have  it  thought  I  apply  to 
Governor  Van  Twiller.  It  is  true  he  was  a  man 
shut  up  within  himself,  like  an  oyster,  and  rarely 
spoke,  except  in  monosyllables;  but  then  it  was 
allowed  he  seldom  said  a  foolish  thing.  So  invin- 
cible was  his  gravity  that  he  was  never  known  to 
laugh  or  even  to  smile  through  the  whole  course 
of  a  long  and  prosperous  life.  Nay,  if  a  joke 
were  uttered  in  his  presence  that  set  light- 
minded  hearers  in  a  roar,  it  was  observed  to 
throw  him  into  a  state  of  perplexity.  Some- 
times he  would  deign  to  inquire  into  the  matter, 
and  when,  after  much  explanation,  the  joke  was 
made  as  plain  as  a  pike-staff,  he  would  continue 
to  smoke  his  pipe  in  silence,  and  at  length, 
knocking  out  the  ashes,  would  exclaim,  "Well, 
I  see  nothing  in  all  that  to  laugh  about." 

With  all  his  reflective  habits,  he  never  made 
up  his  mind  on  a  subject.     His  adherents  ac- 
4 


Wouter  Van  Twiller 

counted  for  this  by  the  astonishing  magnitude 
of  his  ideas.  He  conceived  every  subject  on  so 
grand  a  scale  that  he  had  not  room  in  his  head 
to  turn  it  over  and  examine  both  sides  of  it. 
Certain  it  is  that,  if  any  matter  were  propounded 
to  him  on  which  ordinary  mortals  would  rashly 
determine  at  first  glance,  he  would  put  on  a 
vague,  mysterious  look,  shake  his  capacious 
head,  smoke  some  time  in  profound  silence,  and 
at  length  observe  that  "he  had  his  doubts  about 
the  matter";  which  gained  him  the  reputation 
of  a  man  slow  of  belief  and  not  easily  imposed 
upon.  What  is  more,  it  gained  him  a  lasting 
name;  for  to  this  habit  of  the  mind  has  been 
attributed  his  surname  of  Twiller;  which  is  said 
to  be  a  corruption  of  the  original  Twijfler,  or,  in 
plain  English,  Doubter. 

The  person  of  this  illustrious  old  gentleman 
was  formed  and  proportioned  as  though  it  had 
been  molded  by  the  hands  of  some  cunning 
Dutch  statuary,  as  a  model  of  majesty  and 
lordly  grandeur.  He  was  exactly  five  feet  six 
inches  in  height,  and  six  feet  five  inches  in  cir- 
cumference. His  head  was  a  perfect  sphere, 
and  of  such  stupendous  dimensions  that  Dame 
Nature,  with  all  her  sex's  ingenuity,  would  have 
been  puzzled  to  construct  a  neck  capable  of 
supporting  it;  wherefore  she  wisely  declined  the 
attempt,  and  settled  it  firmly  on  the  top  of  his 
backbone,  just  between  the  shoulders.  His 
body  was  oblong,  and  particularly  capacious  at 
bottom;  which  was  wisely  ordered  by  Providence 
5 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

seeing  that  he  was  a  man  of  sedentary  habits, 
and  very  averse  to  the  idle  labor  of  walking. 
His  legs  were  short,  but  sturdy  in  proportion  to 
the  weight  they  had  to  sustain;  so  that  when 
erect  he  had  not  a  little  the  appearance  of  a  beer 
barrel  on  skids.  His  face,  that  infallible  index  cf 
the  mind,  presented  a  vast  expanse,  unfurrowed 
by  those  lines  and  angles  which  disfigure  the 
human  countenance  with  what  is  termed  expres- 
sion. Two  small  gray  eyes  twinkled  feebly  in 
the  midst,  like  two  stars  of  lesser  magnitude 
in  a  hazy  firmament;  and  his  full-fed  cheeks, 
which  seemed  to  have  taken  toll  of  every- 
thing tha.t  went  into  his  mouth,  were  curiously 
mottled  and  streaked  with  dusky  red,  like  a 
Spitzenberg  apple. 

His  habits  were  as  regular  as  his  person.  He 
daily  took  his  four  stated  meals,  appropriating 
exactly  an  hour  to  each ;  he  smoked  and  doubted 
eight  hours,  ar>d  he  slept  the  remaining  twelve  of 
the  four-and-twenty.  Such  was  the  renowned 
Wouter  Van  Twiller  —  a  true  philosopher,  for 
his  mind  was  either  elevated  above,  or  tran- 
quilly settled  below,  the  cares  and  perplexities 
of  this  world.  He  had  lived  in  it  for  years, 
without  feeling  the  least  curiosity  to  know 
whether  the  sun  revolved  round  it,  or  it  round 
the  sun;  and  he  had  watched  for  at  least  half 
a  century  the  smoke  curling  from  his  pipe  to 
the  ceiling,  without  once  troubling  his  head 
with  any  of  those  numerous  theories  by  which 
a  philosopher  would  have  perplexed  his  brain 
6 


Wouter  Van  Twiller 

in  accounting  for  its  rising  above  the  surround- 
ing atmosphere. 

In  his  council  he  presided  with  great  state  and 
solemnity.  He  sat  in  a  huge  chair  of  solid  oak 
hewn  in  the  celebrated  forest  of  The  Hague, 
fabricated  by  an  experienced  timmerman  of 
Amsterdam,  and  curiously  carved  about  the 
arms  and  feet  into  exact  imitations  of  gigantic 
eagle's  claws.  Instead  of  a  scepter,  he  swayed 
a  long  Turkish  pipe,  wrought  with  jasmine  and 
amber,  which  had  been  presented  to  a  stadt- 
holder  of  Holland  at  the  conclusion  of  a  treaty 
with  one  of  the  petty  Barbary  powers.  In  this 
stately  chair  would  he  sit,  and  this  magnificent 
pipe  would  he  smoke,  shaking  his  right  knee 
with  a  constant  motion,  and  fixing  his  eye  for 
hours  together  upon  a  little  print  of  Amsterdam 
which  hung  in  a  black  frame  against  the  opposite 
wall  of  the  council  chamber.  Nay,  it  has  even 
been  said  that  when  any  deliberation  of  extraor- 
dinary length  and  intricacy  was  on  the  carpet, 
the  renowned  Wouter  would  shut  his  eyes  for 
full  two  hours  at  a  time  that  he  might  not  be 
disturbed  by  external  objects;  and  at  such  times 
the  internal  commotion  of  his  mind  was  evinced 
by  certain  regular  guttural  sounds,  which  his 
admirers  declared  were  merely  the  noise  of  con- 
flict made  by  his  contending  doubts  and  opinions. 

It  is  with  infinite  difficulty  I  have  been  enabled 

to   collect  these  biographical   anecdotes  of  the 

great     man     under     consideration.     The     facts 

respecting  him  were  so  scattered  and  vague,  and 

7 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

divers  of  them  so  questionable  in  point  of  authen- 
ticity, that  I  have  had  to  give  up  the  search  after 
many,  and  decline  the  admission  of  still  more, 
which  would  have  tended  to  heighten  the  color- 
ing  of  his  portrait. 

I  have  been  the  more  anxious  to  delineate 
fully  the  person  and  habits  of  Wouter  Van 
Twiller,  from  the  consideration  that  he  was  not 
only  the  first  but  also  the  best  Governor  that 
ever  presided  over  this  ancient  and  respectable 
province;  and  so  tranquil  and  benevolent  was 
his  reign,  that  I  do  not  find  throughout  the  whole 
of  it  a  single  instance  of  any  offender  being 
brought  to  punishment  —  a  most  indubitable 
sign  of  a  merciful  Governor,  and  a  case  unparal- 
leled, excepting  in  the  reign  of  the  illustrious 
King  Log,  from  whom,  it  is  hinted,  the  renowned 
Van  Twiller  was  a  lineal  descendant. 

The  very  outset  of  the  career  of  this  excellent 
magistrate  was  distinguished  by  an  example  of 
legal  acumen  that  gave  flattering  presage  of  a 
wise  and  equitable  administration.  The  morn- 
ing after  he  had  been  installed  in  office,  and  at 
the  moment  that  he  was  making  his  breakfast 
from  a  prodigious  earthen  dish,  filled  with  milk 
and  Indian  pudding,  he  was  interrupted  by  the 
appearance  of  Wandle  Schoonhoven,  a  very 
important  old  burgher  of  New  Amsterdam,  who 
complained  bitterly  of  one  Barent  Bleecker. 
inasmuch  as  he  refused  to  come  to  a  settlement  of 
accounts,  seeing  that  there  was  a  heavy  balance 
in  favor  of  the  said  Wandle.  Governor  Van 
8 


Wouter  Van  Twiller 

Twiller,  as  I  have  already  observed,  was  a  man 
of  few  words;  he  was  likewise  a  mortal  enemy  to 
multiplying  writings  —  or  being  disturbed  at  his 
breakfast.  Having  listened  attentively  to  the 
statement  of  Wandle  Schoonhoven,  giving  an 
occasional  grunt,  as  he  shoveled  a  spoonful  of 
Indian  pudding  into  his  mouth  —  either  as  a  sign 
that  he  relished  the  dish,  or  comprehended  the 
story  —  he  called  unto  him  his  constable,  and 
pulling  out  of  his  breeches  pocket  a  huge  jack- 
knife,  despatched  it  after  the  defendant  as  a 
summons,  accompanied  by  his  tobacco-box  as  a 
warrant. 

This  summary  process  was  as  effectual  in  those 
simple  days  as  was  the  seal-ring  of  the  great 
Haroun  Alraschid  among  the  true  believers. 
The  two  parties  being  confronted  before  him, 
each  produced  a  book  of  accounts,  written  in  a 
language  and  character  that  would  have  puzzled 
any  but  a  High-Dutch  commentator  or  a  learned 
decipherer  of  Egyptian  obelisk.  The  sage 
Wouter  took  them  one  after  the  other,  and  hav- 
ing poised  them  in  his  hands  and  attentively 
counted  over  the  number  of  leaves,  fell  straight- 
way into  a  very  great  doubt,  and  smoked  for  half 
an  hour  without  saying  a  word;  at  length,  1 
his  finger  beside  his  nose  and  shutting  his  eyes 
for  a  moment,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  just 
caught  a  subtle  idea  by  the  tail,  he  slowly  took 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  puffed  forth  a  column 
of  tobacco  smoke,  and  with  marvelous  gravity 
and  solemnity  pronounced,  that,  having  care- 
9 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

iully  counted  over  the  leaves  and  weighed  th« 
books,  it  was  found  that  one  was  just  as  thick 
and  as  heavy  as  the  other;  therefore,  it  was  the 
final  opinion  of  the  court  that  the  accounts  were 
equally  balanced :  therefore,  Wandle  should  give 
Barent  a  receipt,  and  Barent  should  give  Wandle 
a  receipt,  and  the  constable  should  pay  the  costs. 
This  decision,  being  straightway  made  known, 
diffused  general  joy  throughout  New  Amster- 
dam, for  the  people  immediately  perceived  that 
they  had  a  very  wise  and  equitable  magistrate 
to  rule  over  them.  But  its  happiest  effect  was 
that  not  another  lawsuit  took  place  throughout 
the  whole  of  his  administration;  and  the  office 
of  constable  fell  into  such  decay  that  there 
was  not  one  of  those  losel  scouts  known  in  the 
province  for  many  years.  I  am  the  more  par- 
ticular in  dwelling  on  this  transaction,  not  only 
because  I  deem  it  one  of  the  most  sage  and  right- 
eous judgments  on  record,  and  well  worthy  the 
attention  of  modern  magistrates,  but  because 
it  was  a  miraculous  event  in  the  history  of  the 
renowned  Wouter  —  being  the  only  time  he  was 
ever  known  to  come  to  a  decision  in  the  whole 
course   of  his  life. 

WILHELMUS  KIEFT 
As  some  sleek  ox,  sunk  in  the  rich  repose  of 
a  clover  field,  dozing  and  chewing  the  cud,  will 
bear  repeated  blows  before  it  raises  itself,  so  the 
province  of  Nieuw  Nederlandts,  having  waxed 
fat   under   the   drowsy   reign   of   the    Doubter. 

10 


Wilhelmus  Kieft 

needed  cuffs  and  kicks  to  rouse  it  into  action. 
The  reader  will  now  witness  the  manner  in  which 
a  peaceful  community  advances  toward  a  state 
of  war ;  which  is  apt  to  be  like  the  approach  of  a 
horse  to  a  drum,  with  much  prancing  and  little 
progress,  and  too  often  with  the  wrong  end 
foremost. 

Wilhelmus  Kieft,  who  in  1634  ascended  the 
gubernatorial  chair  (to  borrow  a  favorite  though 
clumsy  appellation  of  modern  phraseology), 
was  of  a  lofty  descent,  his  father  being  inspector 
of  windmills  in  the  ancient  town  of  Saardam; 
and  our  hero,  we  are  told,  when  a  boy,  made  very 
curious  investigations  into  the  nature  and  opera- 
tions of  these  machines,  which  was  one  reason 
why  he  afterward  came  to  be  so  ingenious  a 
Governor.  His  nam?,  according  to  the  most 
authentic  etymologists,  was  a  corruption  of 
Ky ver  —  that  is  to  say,  a  wrangler  or  scolder,  and 
expressed  the  characteristic  of  his  family,  which, 
for  nearly  two  centuries,  have  kept  the  windy 
town  of  Saardam  in  hot  water  and  produced 
more  tartars  and  brimstones  than  any  ten  families 
in  the  place;  and  so  truly  did  he  inherit  this  family 
peculiarity,  that  he  had  not  been  a  year  in  the 
government  of  the  province  before  he  was 
universally  denominated  William  the  Testy. 
His  appearance  answered  to  his  name.  He  was 
a  brisk,  wiry,  waspish  little  old  gentleman,  such 
a  one  as  may  now  and  then  be  seen  stumpi:ig 
about  our  city  in  a  broad-skirted  coat  with  huge 
buttons,  a  cocked  hat  stuck  on  the  back  of  his 
11 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

head,  and  a  cane  as  high  as  his  chin.  His  face 
was  broad,  but  his  features  were  sharp ;  his  cheeks 
were  scorched  into  a  dusky  red  by  two  fiery 
little  gray  eyes,  his  nose  turned  up,  and  the  cor- 
ners of  his  mouth  turned  down,  pretty  much  like 
the  muzzle  of  an  irritable  pug-dog. 

I  have  heard  it  observed  by  a  profound  adept 
in  human  physiology,  that  if  a  woman  waxes  fat 
with  the  progress  of  years,  her  tenure  of  life 
is  somewhat  precarious,  but  if  haply  she  withers 
as  she  grows  old,  she  lives  forever.  Such  prom- 
ised to  be  the  case  with  William  the  Testy,  who 
grew  tough  in  proportion  as  he  dried.  He  had 
withered,  in  fact,  not  through  the  process  of 
years,  but  through  the  tropical  fervor  of  his 
soul,  which  burnt  like  a  vehement  rush-light  in 
his  bosom,  inciting  him  to  incessant  broils  and 
bickerings.  Ancient  tradition  speaks  much  of 
his  learning,  and  of  the  gallant  inroads  he  had 
made  into  the  dead  languages,  in  which  he  had 
made  captive  a  host  of  Greek  nouns  and  Latin 
verbs,  and  brought  off  rich  booty  in  ancient  saws 
and  apothegms,  which  he  was  wont  to  parade  in 
his  public  harangues,  as  a  triumphant  general  of 
yore  his  spolia  opima.  Of  metaphysics  he  knew 
enough  to  confound  all  hearers  and  himself  into 
the  bargain.  In  logic  he  knew  the  whole  family 
of  syllogisms  and  dilemmas,  and  was  so  proud 
of  his  skill  that  he  never  suffered  even  a  self- 
evident  fact  to  pass  unargued.  It  was  observed, 
however,  that  he  seldom  got  into  an  argu- 
ment without  getting  into  a  perplexity,  and 
12 


Wilhelmus  Kieft 

then  into  a  passion  with  his  adversary  for  not 
being  convinced  gratis. 

He  had,  moreover,  skirmished  smartly  on  the 
frontiers  of  several  of  the  sciences,  was  fond  of 
experimental  philosophy,  and  prided  himself 
upon  inventions  of  all  kinds.  His  abode,  which 
he  had  fixed  at  a  Bowerie  or  country-seat  at  a 
short  distance  from  the  city,  just  at  what  is  now 
called  Dutch  Street,  soon  abounded  with  proofs 
of  his  ingenuity ;  patent  smoke-jacks  that  require 
a  horse  to  work  them ;  Dutch  ovens  that  roasted 
meat  without  fire;  carts  that  went  before  the 
horses;  weathercocks  that  turned  against  the 
wind ;  and  other  wrong-headed  contrivances  that 
astonished  and  confounded  all  beholders.  The 
house,  too,  was  beset  with  paralytic  cats  and 
dogs,  the  subjects  of  his  experimental  philosophy 
and  the  yelling  and  yelping  of  the  latter 
unhappy  victims  of  science,  while  aiding  in 
the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  soon  gained  for 
the  place  the  name  of  "Dog's  Misery,"  by 
which  it  continues  to  be  known  even  at  the 
present  day. 

It  is  in  knowledge  as  in  swimming:  he  who 
flounders  and  splashes  on  the  surface  makes  more 
noise,  and  attracts  more  attention,  than  the  pearl 
diver  who  quietly  dives  in  quest  of  treasures  to 
the  bottom.  The  vast  acquirements  of  the  new 
Governor  were  the  theme  of  marvel  among  the 
simple  burghers  of  New  Amsterdam;  he  figured 
about  the  place  as  learned  a  man  as  a  Bonze  at 
Pekin,  who  had  mastered  one-half  of  the  Chinese 
13 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

alphabet,  and  was  unanimously  pronounced  a 
"universal  genius!" 

Thus  end  the  authenticated  chronicles  of  ths 
reign  of  William  the  Testy;  for  henceforth,  in 
the  troubles,  perplexities  and  confusion  of  the 
times,  he  seems  to  have  been  totally  overlooked, 
and  to  have  slipped  forever  through  the  fingers 
of  scrupulous  history. 

It  is  true  that  certain  of  the  early  provincial 
poets,  of  whom  there  were  great  numbers  in 
the  Nieuw  Nederlandts,  taking  advantage  of  his 
mysterious  exit,  have  fabled,  that  like  Romulus, 
he  was  translated  to  the  skies,  and  forms  a  very 
fiery  little  star  somewhere  on  the  left  claw  of  the 
Crab;  while  others,  equally  fanciful,  declare  that 
he  had  experienced  a  fate  similar  to  that  of  the 
good  King  Arthur,  who,  we  are  assured  by  ancient 
bards,  was  carried  away  to  the  delicious  abodes 
of  fairy-land,  where  he  still  exists  in  pristine 
worth  and  vigor,  and  will  one  day  or  another 
return  to  restore  the  gallantry,  the  honor  and 
the  immaculate  probity  which  prevailed  in  the 
glorious  days  of  the  Round  Table. 

All  these,  however,  are  but  pleasing  fantasies, 
the  cobweb  visions  of  those  dreaming  varlets, 
the  poets,  to  which  I  would  not  have  my  judi- 
cious readers  attach  any  credibility.  Neither 
am  I  disposed  to  credit  an  ancient  and  rather 
apocryphal  historian  who  asserts  that  the 
ingenious  Wilhelmus  was  annihilated  by  the 
blowing  down  of  one  of  his  windmills;  nor  a 
writer  of  latter  times  who  affirms  that  he  fell  a 
14 


Peter  Stuyvesant 

victim  to  an  experiment  in  natural  history, 
having  the  misfortune  to  break  his  neck  from  a 
garret  window  of  the  stadthcuse  in  attempting 
to  catch  swallows  by  sprinkling  salt  upon  their 
tails.  Still  less  do  I  put  my  faith  in  the  tradition 
that  he  perished  at  sea  in  conveying  home  to 
Holland  a  treasure  of  golden  ore,  discovered 
somewhere  among  the  haunted  regions  of  the 
Catskill  Mountains. 

The  most  probable  account  declares  that, 
what  with  the  constant  troubles  on  his  frontiers, 
the  incessant  schemings  and  projects  going  on 
in  his  own  pericranium,  the  memorials,  petitions, 
remonstrances  and  sage  pieces  of  advice  of 
respectable  meetings  of  the  sovereign  people, 
and  the  refractory  disposition  of  his  councilors, 
who  were  sure  to  differ  from  him  on  every  point 
and  uniformly  to  be  in  the  wrong,  his  mind  was 
kept  in  a  furnace  heat  until  he  became  as  com- 
pletely burnt  out  as  a  Dutch  family  pipe  which 
has  passed  through  three  generations  of  hard 
smokers.  In  this  manner  did  he  undergo  a  kind 
of  animal  combustion,  consuming  away  like  a 
farthing  rush-light;  so  that  when  grim  death 
finally  snuffed  him  out  there  was  scarce  left 
enough  of  him  to  bury. 

PETER  STUYVESANT 
Peter  Stuyvesant  was  the  last,  and,  like  the 
renowned  Vvouter  Van  Twiller,  the  best  of  our 
ancient  Dutch  Governors,   Wouter  having  sur- 
passed all  who  preceded  him,  and  Peter,  or  Piet 
15 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

as  he  was  sociably  called  by  the  old  Dutch 
burghers,  who  were  ever  prone  to  familiarize 
names,  having  never  been  equaled  by  any  suc- 
cessor. He  was  in  fact  the  very  man  fitted  by 
nature  to  retrieve  the  desperate  fortunes  of  her 
beloved  province,  had  not  the  Fates,  those  most 
potent  and  unrelenting  of  all  ancient  spinsters, 
destined  them  to  inextricable  confusion. 

To  say  merely  that  he  was  a  hero  would  be 
doing  him  great  injustice;  he  was  in  truth  a  com- 
bination of  heroes;  for  he  was  of  a  sturdy,  raw- 
boned  make,  like  Ajax  Telamon,  with  a  pair  of 
round  shoulders  that  Hercules  would  have  given 
his  hide  for  (meaning  his  lion's  hide)  when  he 
undertook  to  ease  old  Atlas  of  his  load.  He  was, 
moreover,  as  Plutarch  describes  Coriolanus,  not 
only  terrible  for  the  force  of  his  arm,  but  likewise 
of  his  voice,  which  sounded  as  though  it  came  out 
of  a  barrel;  and,  like  the  self-same  warrior,  he 
possessed  a  sovereign  contempt  for  the  sovereign 
people,  and  an  iron  aspect  which  was  enough  of 
itself  to  make  the  very  bowels  of  his  adversaries 
quake  with  terror  and  dism-.y.  All  this  martial 
excellency  of  appearance  was  inexpressibly 
heightened  by  an  accidental  advantage,  with 
which  I  am  surprised  that  neither  Homer  nor 
Virgil  have  graced  any  of  their  heroes.  This 
was  nothing  less  than  a  wooden  leg,  which 
was  the  only  prize  he  had  gained  in  bravely 
fighting  the  battles  of  his  country,  but  of  which 
he  was  so  proud  that  he  was  often  heard  to 
declare  he  valued  it  more  than  all  his  other 
16 


Antony  Van  Coriear 

limbs  put  together:  indeed,  so  highly  did  he 
esteem  it  that  he  had  it  gallantly  enchased 
and  relieved  with  silver  devices,  which  caused 
it  to  be  related  in  divers  histories  and  legends 
that  he  wore  a  silver  leg. 

ANTONY  VAN  CORLEAR 
The  very  first  movements  of  the  great  Peter, 
on  taking  the  reins  of  government,  displayed 
his  magnanimity,  though  they  occasioned  not  a 
little  marvel  and  uneasiness  among  the  people 
of  the  Manhattoes.  Finding  himself  constantly 
interrupted  by  tne  opposition,  and  annoyed  by 
the  advice  of  his  privy  council,  the  members  of 
which  had  acquired  the  unreasonable  habit  of 
thinking  and  speaking  for  themselves  during  the 
preceding  reign,  ne  determined  at  once  to  put  a 
stop  to  such  grievous  abominations.  Scarcely, 
therefore,  had  he  entered  upon  his  authority, 
than  he  turned  out  of  office  all  the  meddlesome 
spirits  of  the  iactious  cabinet  of  William  the 
Testy;  in  place  01  whom  he  chose  unto  himself 
counselors  from  xnose  fat,  somniferous,  respect- 
able burghers  wno  had  nourished  and  slumbered 
under  the  easy  reign  of  Walter  the  Doubter. 
All  these  he  caused  to  be  furnished  with  abun- 
dance of  fair,  long  pipes,  and  to  be  regaled  with 
frequent  corporation  dinners,  admonishing  them 
to  smoke,  and  eat.  and  sleep  for  the  good  of  the 
nation,  while  he  took  the  burden  of  government 
upon  his  own  shoulders  —  an  arrangement  to 
which  they  all  gave  hearty  acquiescence. 
17 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

Nor  did  he  stop  here,  but  made  a  hideous  rout 
among  the  inventions  and  expedients  of  his 
learned  predecessor,  rooting  up  his  patent 
gallows,  where  caitiff  vagabonds  were  suspended 
by  the  waistband;  demolishing  his  flag-staffs 
and  windmills,  which,  like  mighty  giants, 
guarded  the  ramparts  of  New  Amsterdam; 
pitching  to  the  duyvel  whole  batteries  of  Quaker 
guns;  and,  in  a  word,  turning  topsy-turvy 
the  whole  philosophic,  economic  and  windmill 
system  of  the  immortal  sage  of  Saardam. 

The  honest  folks  of  New  Amsterdam  began  to 
quake  now  for  the  fate  of  their  matchless  cham- 
pion, Antony  the  Trumpeter,  who  had  acquired 
prodigious  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  women  by 
means  of  his  whiskers  and  his  trumpet.  Him  did 
Peter  the  headstrong  cause  to  be  brought  into 
his  presence,  and  eying  him  for  a  moment  from 
head  to  foot,  which  a  countenance  that  would  have 
appalled  anything  else  than  a  sounder  of  brass — 
"Pr'ythee,  who  and  what  art  thou?"  said  he. 
"Sire,"  replied  the  other,  in  no  wise  dismayed, 
"for  my  name,  it  is  Antony  Van  Corlear;  for 
my  parentage,  I  am  the  son  of  my  mother;  for 
my  profession,  I  am  champion  and  garrison  of 
this  great  city  of  New  Amsterdam."  "I  doubt 
me  much,"  said  Peter  Stuyvesant,  "that  thou 
art  some  scurvy  costard-monger  knave.  How 
didst  thou  acquire  this  paramount  honor  and 
dignity?"  "Marry,  sir,"  replied  the  othe-. 
"like  many  a  great  man  before  me,  simply  by 
sounding  my  own  trumpet."  "Ay,  is  it  so?'' 
18 


Antony  Van  Corlear 

quoth  the  Governor;  "why,  then,  let  us  have  a 
relish  of  thy  art."  Whereupon  the  good 
Antony  put  his  instrument  to  his  lips,  and 
sounded  a  charge  with  such  a  tremendous  outset 
such  a  delectable  quaver,  and  such  a  triumphant 
cadence,  that  it  was  enough  to  make  one's  heart 
leap  out  of  one's  mouth  only  to  be  within  a  mile 
of  it.  Like  as  a  war-worn  charger,  grazing  in 
peaceful  plains,  starts  at  a  strain  of  martial 
music,  pricks  up  his  ears,  and  snorts,  and  paws, 
and  kindles  at  the  noise,  so  did  the  heroic  Peter 
joy  to  hear  the  clangor  of  the  trumpet;  for  of 
him  might  truly  be  said,  what  was  recorded  of  the 
renowned  St.  George  of  England,  "There  was 
nothing  in  all  the  world  that  more  rejoiced  his 
heart  than  to  hear  the  pleasant  sound  of  war,  and 
see  the  soldiers  brandish  forth  their  steeled 
weapons."  Casting  his  eye  more  kindly,  there- 
fore, upon  the  sturdy  Van  Corlear,  and  finding 
him  to  be  a  jovial  varlet,  shrewd  in  his  discourse, 
yet  of  great  discretion  and  immeasurable  wind,  he 
straightway  conceived  a  vast  kindness  for  him, 
and  discharging  him  from  the  troublesome  duty 
of  garrisoning,  defending  and  alarming  the  city, 
ever  after  retained  him  about  his  person  as  his 
chief  favorite,  confidential  envoy  and  trusty 
squire.  Instead  of  disturbing  the  city  with 
disastrous  notes,  he  was  instructed  to  play  so  as  to 
delight  the  Governor  while  at  his  repasts,  as 
did  the  minstrels  of  yore  in  the  days  of  the 
gk  rious  chivalry  —  and  on  all  public  occasions  to 
rejoice  the  ears  of  the  people  with  warlike 
19 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

melody  —  thereby   keeping   alive    a    noble    and 
martial  spirit. 

GENERAL  VAN  POFFENBURGH 
It  is  tropically  observed  by  honest  old  Socrates 
that  heaven  infuses  into  some  men  at  their  birth 
a  portion  of  intellectual  gold,  into  others  of 
intellectual  silver,  while  others  are  intellectually 
furnished  with  iron  and  brass.  Of  the  last  class 
was  General  Van  Poffenburgh ;  and  it  would  seem 
as  if  dame  Nature,  who  will  sometimes  be  partial, 
had  given  him  brass  enough  for  a  dozen  ordinary 
braziers.  All  this  he  had  contrived  to  pass  off 
upon  William  the  Testy  for  genuine  gold;  and 
the  little  Governor  would  sit  for  hours  and  listen 
to  his  gunpowder  stories  of  exploits,  wThich  left 
those  of  Tirante  the  White,  Don  Belianis  of 
Greece,  or  St.  George  and  the  Dragon  quite  in 
the  background.  Having  been  promoted  by 
William  Kieft  to  the  command  of  his  whole  dis- 
posable forces,  he  gave  importance  to  his  station 
by  the  grandiloquence  of  his  bulletins>  always 
styling  himself  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Armies 
of  the  New  Netherlands,  though  in  sober  truth 
these  armies  were  nothing  more  than  a  handful 
of    hen-stealing,    bottle-bruising    ragamuffins. 

In  person  he  was  not  very  tall,  but  exceedingly 
round;  neither  did  his  bulk  proceed  from  his 
being  fat,  but  windy,  being  blown  up  by  a  pro- 
digious conviction  of  his  own  importance,  until 
he  resembled  one  of  those  bags  of  wind  given  by 
^Eolus,  in  an  incredible  fit  of  generosity,  to  that 
•20 


General  Van  Poffenburgh 

vagabond  warrior  Ulysses.  His  windy  endow- 
ments had  long  excited  the  admiration  of  Antony 
Van  Corlear,  who  is  said  to  have  hinted  more 
than  once  to  William  the  Testy  that  in  making 
Van  Poffenburgh  a  general  he  had  spoiled  an 
admirable   trumpeter. 

As  it  is  the  practice  in  ancient  story  to  give 
the  reader  a  description  of  the  arms  and  equip- 
ments of  every  noted  warrior,  I  will  bestow  a 
word  upon  the  dress  of  this  redoubtable  com- 
mander. It  comported  with  his  character,  being 
so  crossed  and  slashed,  and  embroidered  with 
lace  and  tinsel,  that  he  seemed  to  have  as  much 
brass  without  as  nature  had  stored  away  within. 
He  was  swathed,  too,  in  a  crimson  sash,  of  the 
size  and  texture  of  a  fishing-net  —  doubtless  to 
keep  his  swelling  heart  from  bursting  through  his 
ribs.  His  face  glowed  with  furnace-heat  from 
between  a  huge  pair  of  well-powdered  whiskers, 
and  his  valorous  soul  seemed  ready  to  bounce 
out  of  a  pair  of  large,  glassy,  blinking  eyes,  pro- 
jecting like  those  of  a  lobster. 

I  swear  to  thee,  worthy  reader,  if  history  and 
tradition  belie  not  this  warrior,  I  would  give  all 
the  money  in  my  pocket  to  have  seen  him 
accoutred  cap-a-pie — booted  to  the  middle, 
sashed  to  the  chin,  collared  to  the  ears,  whiskered 
to  the  teeth,  crowned  with  an  overshadowing 
cocked  hat,  and  girded  with  a  leathern  belt  ten 
inches  broad,  from  which  trailed  a  falchion,  of  a 
length  that  I  dare  not  mention.  Thus  equipped, 
he  strutted  about,  as  bitter-looking  a  man  of  war 
21 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

as  the  far-famed  More,  of  MorehaH,  when  he 
sallied  forth  to  slay  the  dragon  of  Wantley.  For 
what  says  the  ballad? 

"  Had  you  but  seen  him  in  this  dress. 

How  fierce  he  looked  and  how  big, 
You  would  have  thought  him  for  to  be 

Some  Egyptian  porcupig. 
He  frighted  all — cats,  dogs,  and  all. 

Each  cow,  each  horse,  and  each  hog: 
For  fear  they  did  flee,  for  they  took  him  to  be 

Some  strange  outlandish  hedgehog." 

— Knickerbocker* 's  History  of  New  York. 


"A  friend  of  mine,"  said  a  citizen,  "asked  me 
the  other  evening  to  go  and  call  on  some  friends 
of  his  who  had  lost  the  head  of  the  family  the 
day  previous.  He  had  been  an  honest  old  man, 
a  laborer  with  a  pick  and  shovel.  While  we 
were  with  the  family  an  old  man  entered  who 
had  worked  by  his  side  for  years.  Expressing 
his  sorrow  at  the  loss  of  his  friend,  and  glancing 
about  the  room,  he  observed  a  large  floral 
anchor.  Scrutinizing  it  closely,  he  turned  to 
the  widow  and  in  a  low  tone  asked,  'Who  sent 
the  pick?'  "  

While  Butler  was  delivering  a  speech  for 
the  Democrats  in  Boston  during  an  exciting 
campaign,  one  of  his  hearers  cried  out,  "How 
about  the  spoons,  Ben?"  Benjamin's  good  eye 
twinkled  merrily  as  he  replied:  "Now,  don't 
mention  that,  please.  I  was  a  Republican  when 
I  stole  those  spoons." 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 

MAXIMS 

Never  spare  the  parson's  wine,  nor  the  baker's 
pudding. 

A  house  without  woman  or  firelight  is  like  a 
body  without  soul  or  sprite. 

Kings  and  bears  often  worry  their  keepers. 

Light  purse,  heavy  heart. 

He's  a  fool  that  makes  his  doctor  his  heir. 

Ne'er  take  a  wife  till  thou  hast  a  house  (and  a 
fire)  to  put  her  in. 

To  lengthen  thy  life,  lessen  thy  meals. 

He  that  drinks  fast  pays  slow. 

He  is  ill-clothed  vho  is  bare  of  virtue. 

Beware  of  meat  twice  boil'd,  and  an  old  foe 
reconcil'd. 

The  heart  of  a  fool  is  in  his  mouth,  but  the 
mouth  of  a  wise  man  is  in  his  heart. 

He  that  is  rich  need  not  live  sparingly,  and  he 
that  can  live  sparingly  need  not  be  rich. 

He  that  waits  upon  fortune  is  never  sure  of  a 
dinner. 

MODEL  OF  A  LETTER  OF  RECOMMENDA- 
TION OF  A  PERSON  YOU  ARE  UN- 
ACQUAINTED WITH 

Paris,  April  2,  1777. 
Sir:  The    bearer    of    this,    who    is    going    to 
America,  presses  me  to  give  him  a  letter  of  recom- 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

mendation,  though  I  know  nothing  of  him,  not 
even  his  name.  This  may  seem  extraordinary, 
but  I  assure  you  it  is  not  uncommon  here.  Some- 
times, indeed,  one  unknown  person  brings 
another  equally  unknown,  to  recommend  him; 
and  sometimes  they  recommend  one  another! 
As  to  this  gentleman,  I  must  refer  you  to  himself 
for  his  character  and  merits,  with  which  he  is 
certainly  better  acquainted  than  I  can  possibly 
be.  I  recommend  him,  however,  to  those 
civilities  which  every  stranger,  of  whom  one 
knows  no  harm,  has  a  right  to;  and  I  request  you 
will  do  him  all  the  favor  that,  on  further 
acquaintance,  you  shall  find  him  to  deserve.  I 
have  the  honor  to  be,  etc. 

EPITAPH  FOR  HIMSELF 

The  Body 

of 

Benjamin  Franklin 

(like  the  cover  of  an  old  book, 

its  contents  torn  out, 

and  stript  of  its  lettering  and  gilding), 

lies  here  food  for  worms, 

yet    the    work    itself    shall    not    be    lost, 

for  it  will  (as  he  believed)  appear  once  more 

IN   A   NEW 

AND  MORE   BEAUTIFUL  EDITION 

CORRECTED  AND  AMENDED 

BY 

The  Author 
24 


WHY  HE  LEFT 

Mr.  Dickson,  a  colored  barber  in  a  large  New 
England  town,  was  shaving  one  of  his  customers, 
a  respectable  citizen,  one  morning,  when  a  con- 
versation occurred  between  them  respecting 
Mr.  Dickson's  former  connection  with  a  colored 
church  in  that  place: 

"I  believe  you  are  connected  with  the  church 
in  Elm  Street,  are  you  not,  Mr.  Dickson?"  said 
the  customer. 

"No,  sah,  not  at  all." 

"What!  Are  you  not  a  member  of  the  African 
church?" 

"Not  dis  year,  sah." 

"Why  did  you  leave  their  communion,  Mr. 
Dickson,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  ask?" 

"Well,  I  '11  tell  you,  sah,"  said  Mr.  Dickson, 
stropping  a  concave  razor  on  the  palm  of  his 
hand,  "it  was  just  like  dis.  I  jined  de  church  in 
good  fait';  I  gave  ten  dollars  toward  the  stated 
gospil  de  first  year,  and  de  church  people  call 
me  'Brudder  Dickson' ;  de  second  year  my  business 
not  so  good,  and  I  gib  only  five  dollars.  That 
year  the  people  call  me  'Mr.  Dickson.'  Dis 
razor  hurt  you,  sah?" 

"No,  the  razor  goes  tolerably  well." 

"Well,  sah,  de  third  year  1  feel  berry  poor; 
had  sickness  in  my  family ;  I  did  n't  gib  noffin'  for 
preachin'.     Well,  sah,  arter  dat  dey  call  me  'dat 
old  nigger  Dickson' — and  I  left  'em." 
25 


WILLIAM  ALLEN  BUTLER 

NOTHING  TO  WEAR 

Miss  Flora  M'Flimsey,  of  Madison  Square, 

Has  made  three  separate  journeys  to  Paris, 
And   her  father  assures  me,  each  time  she  was 

there, 
That  she  and  her  friend,  Mrs.   Harris 
(Not  the  lady  whose  name  is  so  famous  in  history, 
But  plain  Mrs.  H.,  without  romance  or  mystery), 
Spent   six   consecutive  weeks,  without  stopping, 
In  one  continuous  round  of  shopping — 
Shopping  alone,  and  shopping  together, 
At  all  hours  of  the  day;  and  in  all  sorts  of  weather, 
For  all  manner  of  things  that  a  woman  can  put 
On  the  crown  of  her  head,  or  the  sole  of  her  foot, 
Or  wrap  round  her  shoulders,  or  fit  round   her 

waist, 
Or  that  can  be  sewed  on,  or  pinned  on,  or  laced, 
Or  tied  on  with  a  string,  or  stitched  on  with  a  bow 
In  front  or  behind,  above  or  below; 
For  bonnets,  mantillas,  capes,  collars  and  shawls; 
Dresses  for  breakfasts,  and  dinners,  and  balls; 
Dresses  to  sit  in,  and  stand  in,  and  walk  in; 
Dresses  to  dance  in,  and  flirt  in,  and  talk  in; 
Dresses  in  which  to  do  nothing  at  all; 
Dresses  for  winter,  spring,  summer  and  fall; 
All  of  them  different  in  colcr  and  shape. 
Silk,  muslin  and  lace,  velvet,  satin  and  crape, 
26 


Nothing  to  Wear 

Brocade  and  broadcloth,  and  other  material, 
Quite    as   expensive    and    much   more   ethereal ; 
In  short,  for  all  things  that  could  ever  be  thought 

of, 
Or  milliner,  modiste  or  tradesman  be  bought  of, 
From  ten-thousand-franc  robes  to  twenty-sous 

frills; 
In  all  quarters  of  Paris,  and  to  every  store, 
While  M'Flimsey  in  vain  stormed,  scolded  and 

swore. 
They  footed   the   streets,   and  he  footed   the 

bills! 
The  last  trip,  their  goods  shipped  by  the  steamer 

Arago, 
Formed,    M'Flimsey   declares,    the   bulk   of   her 

cargo, 
Not  to  mention  a  quantity  kept  from  the  rest, 
Sufficient  to  fill  the  largest-sized  chest, 
Which  did  not  appear  on  the  ship's  manifest, 
But  for  which  the  ladies  themselves  manifested 
Such  particular  interest,  that  they  invested 
Their  own  proper  persons  in  layers  and  rows 
Of  muslins,  embroideries,  worked  underclothes, 
Gloves,  handkerchiefs,  scarfs,  and  such  trifles  as 

those ; 
Then  wrapped   in  great  shawls,  like  Circassian 

beauties, 
Gave  good-bye  to  the   ship,    and   go   by  to   the 

duties. 
Her  relations  at  home  all  marveled,  no  doubt, 
Miss  Flora  had  grown  so  enormously  stout 
For  an  actual  belle  and  a  possible  bride; 
27 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

But  the  miracle  ceased  when  she  turned  inside  out 
And  the  truth  came  to  light,  and  the  dry-goods 

beside, 
Which,  in  spite  of  Collector  and  Custom-House 

sentry, 
Had  entered  the  port  without  any  entry. 
And    yet,    though    scarce    three    months    have 

passed  since  the  day 
This    merchandise    went,    on   twelve    carts,    up 

Broadway, 
This  same  Miss  M'Flimsey,  of  Madison  Square, 
The  last  time  we  met  was  in  utter  despair, 
Because  she  had  nothing  whatever  to  wear! 

Nothing  to  wear!     Now,  as  this  is  a  true  ditty, 

I  do  not  assert  — this,  you  know,  is  between  us 
That  she's  in  a  state  of  absolute  nudity, 

Like  Powers's  Greek  Slave  or  the  Medici  Venus; 
But  I  do  mean  to  say,  I  have  heard  her  declare, 
When  at  the  same  moment  she  had  on  a  dress 
Which  cost  five  hundred  dollars,  and  not  a  cent 

less, 
And  jewelry  worth  ten  times  more,   I  should 
guess, 
That  she  had  not  a  thing  in  the  wide  world  t  d 
wear ! 

I  should  mention  just  here,  that  out  of  Miss  Flora's 

Two  hundred  and  fifty  or  sixty  adorers, 

I  had  just  been  selected  as  he  who  should  throw 

all 
The  rest  in  the  shade,  by  the  gracious  bestowal 
£8 


Nothing  to  Wear 


On  myseli,  after  twenty  or  thirty  rejections, 

Of   those   fossil   remains   which   she   called   her 

"affections," 
And  that  rather  decayed  but  well-known  work 

of  art 
Which     Miss    Flora     persisted     in    styling    her 

"heart." 
So    we    were    engaged      Our    troth    had    been 

plighted, 
Not  by  moonbeam   or  starbeam,  by  fountain 

or  grove, 
But  in  a  front  parlor,  most  brilliantly  lighted, 
Beneath  the  gas-fixtures, we  whispered  our  love, 
Without  any  romance,  or  raptures,  or  sighs, 
Without  any  tear?  in  Miss  Flora's  blue  eyes, 
Or  blushes,  or  transports,  or  such  silly  actions, 
It  was  one  of  the  quietest  business  transactions, 
With  a  very  small  sprinkling  of  sentiment,  if  any, 
And  a  very  large  diamond  imported  by  Tiffany. 
On  her  virginal  lips,  while  I  printed  a  kiss. 
She  exclaimed,  as  a  sort  of  parenthesis, 
And  by  way  of  putting  me  quite  at  my  ease, 
"You  know  I'm  to  polka  as  much  as  I  please, 
And    flirt   when    I   like — now,   stop,   don't    you 

speak — 
And  you  must  not  come  here  more  than  twice  in 

the  week, 
Or  talk  to  me  either  at  party  or  ball, 
But  always  be  ready  to  come  when  I  call; 
So  don't  prose  to  me  about  duty  and  stuff, 
If  we  don't  break  this  off,  there  will  be  time 

enough 

29 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

For  that  sort  of  thing;  but  the  bargain  must  be 
That,  as  long  as  I  choose,  I  am  perfectly  free — 
For  this  is  a  kind  of  engagement,  you  see, 
Which  is  binding  on  you,  but  not  binding  on  me." 

Well,  having  thus  wooed  Miss  M'Flimsey  and 

gained  her, 
With  the  silks,  crinolines,  and  hoops  that  con- 
tained her, 
I  had,  as  I  thought,  a  contingent  remainder 
At  least  in  the  property,  and  the  best  right 
To  appear  as  its  escort  by  day  and  by  night ; 
And  it  being  the  week  of  the  Stuckups*  grand 

ball— 
The:r  cards  had  been  out  a  fortnight  or  so, 
And  set  all  the  Avenue  on  the  tiptoe — 
I  considered  it  only  my  duty  to  call, 

And  see  if  Miss  Flora  intended  to  go. 
I  found  her — as  ladies  are  apt  to  be  found, 
When  the  time   intervening   between  the   first 

sound 
Of  the  bell  and  the  visitor's  entry  is  shorter 
Than  usual — I  found;   I  won't  say — I  caught  her, 
Intent  on  the  pier-glass,  undoubtedly  meaning 
To  see  if  perhaps  it  did  n't  need  cleaning. 
She  turned   as   I   entered — ' '  Why,   Harry,   you 

sinner, 
I   thought  that   you  went  to  the   Flashers'   to 

dinner!  " 
"So  I  did,"  I  replied;   "the  dinner  is  swallowed. 
And  digested,  I  trust,  for   'tis  now  nine  and 

more, 

30 


Nothing  to  Wear 

So,  being  relieved  from  that  duty,  I  followed 
Inclination,  which  led  me,  you  see,  to  you* 

door ; 
And  now  will  your  ladyship  so  condescend 
As  just  to  inform  me  if  you  intend 
Your  beauty,  and  graces,  and  presence  to  lend 
(All  of  which,  when  I  own,  I  hope  no  one  will 

borrow) 
To  the  Stuckups',  whose  party,  you  know,  is 

to-morrow? " 
The  fair  Flora  looked  up,  with  a  pitiful  air, 
And  answered  quite  promptly,   "Why,   Harry, 

mon  cher, 
I  should  like  above  all  things  to  go  with  you  there, 
But  really  and  truly — I  've  nothing  to  wear." 
"Nothing  to  wear!     Go  just  as  you  are; 
Wear  the  dress  you  have  on,  and  you  '11  be  by  far, 
I  engage,  the  most  bright  and  particular  star 
On  the  Stuckup  horizon "     I  stopped,  for 

her  eye, 
Notwithstanding  this  delicate  onset  of  flattery, 
Opened  on  me  at  once  a  most  terrible  battery 

Of  scorn  and  amazement.  She  made  no  reply, 
But  gave  a  slight  turn  to  the  end  of  her  nose 

(That  pure  Grecian  feature),  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  How  absurd  that  any  sane  man  should  suppose 
That  a  lady  would  go  to  a  ball  in  the  clothes, 

No  matter  how  fine,  that  she  wears  every  day!" 
So  I  ventured  again:  "Wear  your  crimson  bro- 
cade ' ' ; 
(Second  turn  up  of  nose) — "That's  too  dark  by  a 

shade." 

31 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

!Your  blue  silk" — "That's  too  heavy.'*     "Your 

pink" — "That's  too  light." 
"Wear    tulle    over    satin" — "I     can't    endure 

white." 
' '  Your    rose-colored,    then,    the    best    of    the 

batch" — 
"I  haven't  a  thread  of  point-lace  to  match." 
"Your  brown  moire  antique" — "Yes,  and  look 

like   a  Quaker." 
"The  pearl-colored" — "I  would,  but  that  plaguy 

dressmaker 
Has  had  it  a  week."  "Then  that  exquisite  lilac, 
In  which  you  would  melt  the  heart  of  a  Shylock" ; 
(Here  the  nose  took  again  the  same  elevation) — 
"I  wouldn't  wear  that  for  the  whole  of  creation." 
"Why   not?     It's    my    fancy,    there's     nothing 

could  strike  it 
As  more  comme  il  faut" — "Yes,  but,  dear  me, 

that  lean 
Sophronia  Stuckup  has  got  one  just  like  it, 

And  I  won't  appear  dressed  like  a  chit  of  six- 
teen." 
"Then  that  splendid  purple,  the  swTeet  Mazarine; 
That  superb  point  d' aiguille ,  that  imperial  green, 
That  zephyr-like  tarletan,  that  rich  grenadine" — 
"Not  one  of  all  which  is  fit  to  be  seen," 
Said  the  lady,  becoming  excited  and  flushed. 
"Then  wear,"  I  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  which  quite 

crushed 
Opposition,    "that   gorgeous   toilette   which    you 

sported 
In  Paris  last  spring,  at  the  grand  presentation, 
32 


Nothing  to  Wear 

When  you  quite  turned  the  head  of  the  head  of 
the   nation, 
And  by  all  the  grand  court  were  so  very  much 

courted." 
The  end  of  the  nose  was  portentously  tipped  up 

And  both  the  bright  eyes  shot  forth  indignation, 

As  she  burst  upon  me  with  the  fierce  exclamation, 

"  I  have  worn  it  three  times,  at  the  least  calcula- 
tion, 
And  that  and  most  of  my  dresses  are  ripped  upi 

Here  I  ripped  out  something,  perhaps  rather  rash, 
Quite  innocent,  though;  but  to  use  an  expres- 
sion 

More  striking  than  classic,  it  "settled  my  hash." 
And  proved  very  soon  the  last  act  of  our  session. 

'Fiddlesticks,  is  it,  sir!   I  wonder  the  ceiling 

Doesn't  fall  down  and  crush  you — you  men  have 
no  feeling; 

You  selfish,  unnatural,  illiberal  creatures, 

Who  set  yourselves  up  as  patterns  and  preachers, 

Your  silly  pretense — why, what  a  mere  guess  it  is! 

Pray, what  do  you  know  of  a  woman's  necessities? 

I  have  told  you  and  shown  you  I  've  nothing  to 
wear, 

And  it's  perfectly  plain  you  not  only  don't  care, 

But  you  do  not  believe  me"  (here  the  nose  wenl 
still   higher). 

"  I  suppose,  if  you  dared,  you  would  call  me  a  liar. 

Our  engagement  is  ended,  sir — yes,  on  the  spot; 

You're  a  brute,  and  a  monster,   and — I   don't 
know  what." 

I  mildly  suggested  the  words  Hottentot, 
S3 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

Pickpocket,  and  cannibal,  Tartar,  and  thief, 
As  gentle  expletives  which  might  give  relief; 
But  this  only  proved  as  a  spark  to  the  powder, 
And  the  storm   I   had  raised  came  faster  and 

louder ; 
It  blew  and  it  rained,  thundered,  lightened  and 

hailed 
Interjections,  verbs,  pronouns,  till  language  quite 

failed 
To  express  the  abusive,  and  then  its  arrears 
Were  brought  up  all  at  once  by  a  torrent  of  tears, 
And  my  last  faint,  despairing  attempt  at  an  obs- 
Ervation  was  lost  in  a  tempest  of  sobs. 

Well,  I  felt  for  the  lady,  and  felt  for  my  hat,  too, 
Improvised  on  the  crown  of  the  latter  a  tattoo, 
In  lieu  of  expressing  the  feelings  which  lay 
Quite  too  deep  for  words,  as  Wordsworth  would 

say; 
Then,  without  going  through  the  form  of  a  bow, 
Found  myself  in  the  entry — I  hardly  know  how, 
On  doorstep  and  sidewalk,  past  lamp-post  and 

square, 
At  home  and  upstairs,  in  my  own  easy-chair; 

Poked  my  feet  into  slippers,  my  fire  into  blaze, 

And  said  to  myself,  as  I  lit  my  cigar, 

"Supposing  a  man  had  the  wealth  of  the  Czar 

Of  the  Russias  to  boot,  for  the  rest  of    his 

days, 

On  the  whole,  do  you  think  he  would  have  much 

to  spare, 
If  he  married  a  woman  with  nothing  to  wear?" 
34 


Nothing  to  Wear 

S^jice  that  night,  taking  pains  that  it  should  not 

be  bruited 
Abiodd  in  society,  I've  instituted 
A  course  of  inquiry,  extensive  and  thorough, 
On  this  vital  subject,  and  find,  to  my  horror, 
That  the  fair  Flora's  case  is  by  no  means  sur- 
prising, 

But  that  there  exists  the  greatest  distress 
In  our  female  community,  solely  arising 

From  this  unsupplied  destitution  of  dress, 
Whose  unfortunate  victims  are  filling  the  air 
With  the  pitiful  wail  of  "Nothing  to  wear." 

Researches     in     some    of    the     "Upper     Ten" 

districts 
Reveal  the  most  painful  and  startling  statistics, 
Of  which  let  me  mention  only  a  few : 
In  one  single  house  on  the  Fifth  Avenue, 
Three  young  ladies  were  found,  all  below  twenty- 
two, 
Who  have  been  three  whole  weeks  without  any- 
thing   new 
In  the  way  of  flounced  silks,  and  thus  left  in  the 

lurch, 
Are  unable  to  go  to  ball,  concert  or  church. 
In  another  large  mansion  near  the  same  place 
Was  found  a  deplorable,  heartrending  case 
Of  entire  destitution  of  Brussels  point-lace. 
In    a    neighboring    block    there    was    found,  in 

three  calls, 
Total    want,    long    continued,    of    camel' s-hair 
shawls; 

53 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

And  a  suffering  family,  whose  case  exhibits 
The  most  pressing  need  of  real  ermine  tippets ; 
One  deserving  young  lady  almost  unable 
To    survive    for    the    want    of    a    new    Russian 

•sable ; 
Still   another,   whose   tortures   have   been  most 

terrific 
Ever  since  the  sad  loss  of  the  steamer  Pacific, 
In  which  were  engulfed,  not  friend  or  relation 
(For  whose  fate  she,  perhaps,  might  have  found 

consolation, 
Or  borne  it,  at  least,  with  serene  resignation), 
Bflit  the  choicest  assortment  of  French  sleeves 

and  collars 
Ever  sent  out  from  Paris,  worth  thousands   of 

dollars, 
And  all  as  to  style  most  recherche  and  rare, 
The  want  of  which  leaves  her  with  nothing  to 

wear, 
And  renders  her  life  so  drear  and  dyspeptic 
That     she's     quite     a    recluse,     and     almost     a 

skeptic, 
For  she  touchingly  says  that  this  sort  of  grief 
Cannot  find  in  Religion  the  slightest  relief, 
And  Philosophy  has  not  a  maxim  to  spare 
For  the  victims  of  such  overwhelming  despair. 
But  the  saddest,  by  far,  of  all  these  sad  features, 
Is  the  cruelty  practised  upon  the  poor  creatures 
By  husbands  and  fathers,  real  Bluebeards  and 

Timons, 
Tho  resist  the  most  touching  appeals  made  fof 

diamonds 

36 


Nothing  to  Wear 

By  their  wives  and  their  daughters,  and  leave 

them  for  days 
Unsupplied  with  new  jewelry,  fans  or  bouquets, 
Even  laugh  at  their  miseries  whenever  they  have 

a  chance, 
And  deride  their  demands  as  useless  extrava- 
gance. 
One  case  of  a  bride  was  brought  to  my  view, 
Too  sad  for  belief,  but  alas!  'twas  too  true, 
Whose  husband  refused,  as  savage  as  Charon, 
To  permit  her  to  take  more  than  ten  trunks  to 

Sharon. 
The  consequence  was,  that  when  she  got  there, 
At  the  end  of  three  weeks  she  had  nothing  to  wear  ; 
And  when  she  proposed  to  finish  the  season 

At  Newport,  the  monster  refused,  out  and  out 
For  his  infamous  conduct  alleging  no  reason, 

Except  that  the  waters  were  good  for  his  gout; 
Such  treatment  as  this  was  too  shocking,  of  course, 
And  proceedings  are  now  going  on  for  divorce. 

But  why  harrow  the  feelings  by  lifting  the  cur- 
tain 
From  these  scenes  of  woe  ?     Enough,  it  is  certain, 
Has  here  been  disclosed  to  stir  up  the  pity 
Of  every  benevolent  heart  in  the  city, 
And  spur  up  humanity  into  a  canter 
To  rush  and  relieve  these  sad  cases  instanter. 
Won't     somebody,    moved     by     this    touching 

description, 
Come  forward  to-morrow  and  head  a  subscrip- 
tion? 

57 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

Won't  some  kind  philanthropist,  seeing  that  aid  is 
So  needed  at  once  by  these  indigent  ladies, 
Take    charge   of  the   matter?     Or   won't    Peter 

Cooper 
The  corner-stone  lay  of  some  new  splendid  super- 
Structure,  like  that  which  to-day  links  his  name 
In  the  Union  unending  of  Honor  and  Fame, 
And  found  a  new  charity  just  for  the  care 
Of  these  unhappy  women  with  nothing  to  wear, 
Which,  in  view  of  the  cash  which  would  daily  be 

claimed, 
The  Laying-out  Hospital  well  might  be  named? 
Won't  Stewart,  or  some  of  our  dry-goods  im- 
porters, 
Take  a  contract  for  clothing  our  wives  and  our 

daughters  ? 
Or,  to  furnish  the  cash  to  supply  these  distresses, 
And  life's  pathway  strew  with  shawls,  collars  and 

dresses, 
Ere  the  want  of  them  makes  it  much  rougher 

and  thornier, 
Won't  some  one  discover  a  new  California? 

0!  ladies,  dear  ladies,  the  next  sunny  day, 
Please  trundle  your  hoops  just  out  of  Broadway, 
From  its  swirl  and  its  bustle,  its  fashion  and  pride 
And  the  temples  of  Trade  which  tower  on  each 

side, 
To  the  alleys  and  lanes,  where  Misfortune  and 

Guilt 
Their  children  have  gathered,   their  city  have 

built ; 

38 


Nothing  to  Wear 

Where  Hunger  and  Vice,  like  twin  beasts  of  prey, 
Have     hunted     their    victims     to     gloom     and 

despair; 
Raise   the   rich,    dainty   dress,    and    the    fine 

broidered  skirt, 
Pick  your   delicate  way  through   the   damp- 
ness and  dirt, 
Grope     through     the     dark     dens,     climb      the 

rickety  stair 
To  the  garret,  where  wretches,  the  young  and  the 

old, 
Half  starved  and  half  naked,  lie  crouched  from 

the  cold ; 
See  those  skeleton  limbs,  those  frost-bitten  feet, 
All  bleeding  and  bruised  by  the  stones  of  the 

street ; 
Hear  the  sharp  cry  of  childhood,  the  deep  groans 

that  swell 
From  the  poor  dying  creature  who  writhes  on 

the  floor; 
Hear  the  curses  that  sound  like  the  echoes  of  Hell, 
As  you  sicken  and  shudder  and  fly  from  the 

door; 
Then  home  to  your  wardrobes,  and  say,  if  you 

dare — 
Spoiled  children  of  fashion — you've  nothing  to 

wear! 

And  O!  if  perchance  there  should  be  a  sphere 
Where  all  is  made  right  which  so  puzzles  us  here, 
Where  the  glare  and  the  glitter  and  tinsel  of  Time 
Fade  and  die  in  the  light  of  that  region  sublime.. 
89 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

Where  the  soul,  disenchanted  of  flesh  and  of 

sense, 
Unscreened    by    its    trappings    and    shows   and 

pretense, 
Must  be  clothed  for  the  life  and  the  service  above, 
With  purity,  truth,  faith,  meekness  and  love, 
O!  daughters  of  Earth!  foolish  virgins,  beware! 
Lest  in  that  upper  realm  you  have  nothing  to 


A  BOY'S  ESSAY  ON  GIRLS 

Girls  are  very  stuckup  and  dignefied  in  their 
manner  and  behaveyour.  They  think  more  of 
dress  than  anything  and  like  to  play  with  dowls 
and  rags.  They  cry  if  they  see  a  cow  in  afar  dis- 
tance and  are  afraid  of  guns.  They  stay  at  home 
all  the  time  and  go  to  Church  every  Sunday, 
They  are  al-ways  sick.  They  are  al-ways  funy 
and  making  fun  of  boys  hands  and  they  say  how 
dirty.  They  cant  play  marbles.  I  pity  them 
poor  things.  They  make  fun  of  boys  and  then 
turn  round  and  love  them.  I  dont  beleave  they 
ever  killed  a  cat  or  any  thing.  They  look  out 
every  nite  and  say  oh  ant  the  moon  lovely. 
Thir  is  one  thing  I  have  not  told  and  that  is  they 
al-ways  now  their  lessons  bettern  boys. 


40 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER 

DEACON   MARBLE 

How  they  ever  made  a  deacon  out  of  Jerry 
Marble  I  never  could  imagine!  His  was  the 
kindest  heart  that  ever  bubbled  and  ran  over. 
He  was  elastic,  tough,  incessantly  active,  and  a 
prodigious  worker.  He  seemed  never  to  tire, 
but  after  the  longest  day's  toil,  he  sprang  up  the 
moment  he  had  done  with  work,  as  if  he  were  a 
fine  steel  spring.  A  few  hours'  sleep  sufficed 
him  and  he  saw  the  morning  stars  the  year 
round.  His  weazened  face  was  leather  color, 
but  forever  dimpling  and  changing  to  keep  some 
sort  of  congruity  between  itself  and  his  eyes,  that 
winked  and  blinked  and  spilled  over  with  merry 
good  nature.  He  always  seemed  afflicted  when 
obliged  to  be  sober.  He  had  been  known  to 
laugh  in  meeting  on  several  occasions,  although 
he  ran  his  face  behind  his  handkerchief,  and 
coughed,  as  if  that  was  the  matter,  yet  nobody 
believed  it.  Once,  in  a  hot  summer  day,  he 
saw  Deacon  Trowbridge,  a  sober  and  fat  man, 
of  great  sobriety,  gradually  ascending  from  the 
bodily  state  into  that  spiritual  condition  called 
sleep.  He  was  blameless  of  the  act.  He  had 
struggled  against  the  temptation  with  the  whole 
virtue  of  a  deacon.  He  had  eaten  two  or  three 
heads  of  fennel  in  vain,  and  a  piece  of  orange 
41 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

peel.  He  had  stirred  himself  up,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  on  the  minister  with  intense  firmness,  only 
to  have  them  grow  gradually  narrower  and 
milder.  If  he  held  his  head  up  firmly,  it  would 
with  a  sudden  lapse  fall  away  over  backward. 
If  he  leaned  it  a  little  forward,  it  would  drop 
suddenly  into  his  bosom.  At  each  nod,  recover- 
ing himself,  he  would  nod  again,  with  his  eyes 
vide  open,  to  impress  upon  the  boys  that  he  did 
it  on  purpose  both  times. 

In  what  other  painful  event  of  life  has  a  good 
nan  so  little  sympathy  as  when  overcome  with 
sleep  in  meeting  time?  Against  the  insidious 
seduction  he  arrays  every  conceivable  resistance. 
He  stands  up  awhile;  he  pinches  himself,  or 
pricks  himself  with  pins.  He  looks  up  helplessly 
to  the  pulpit  as  if  some  succor  might  come 
thence.  He  crosses  his  legs  uncomfortably,  and 
attempts  to  recite  the  catechism  or  the  multi- 
plication table.  He  seizes  a  langtiid  fan,  which 
treacherously  leaves  him  in  a  calm.  He  tries  to 
reason,  to  notice  the  phenomena.  Oh,  that  one 
could  carry  his  pew  to  bed  with  him!  What 
tossing  wakefulness  there!  what  fiery  chase  after 
somnolency!  In  his  lawful  bed  a  man  cannot 
sleep,  and  in  his  pew  he  cannot  keep  awake! 
Happy  man  who  does  not  sleep  in  church! 
Deacon  Trowbridge  was  not  that  man.  Deacon 
Marble  was ! 

Deacon  Marble  witnessed  the  conflict  we  have 
sketched  above,  and  when  good  Mr.  Trowbridge 
gave  his  next  lurch,  recovering  himself  with  a 
42 


The  Deacon's  Trout 

snort,  and  then  drew  out  a  red  handkerchief  and 
blew  his  nose  with  a  loud  imitation,  as  if  to  let 
the  boys  know  that  he  had  not  been  asleep,  poor 
Deacon  Marble  was  brought  to  a  sore  strait. 
But  I  have  reason  to  think  that  he  would  have 
weathered  the  stress  if  it  had  not  been  for  a 
sweet-faced  little  boy  in  the  front  of  the  gallery. 
The  lad  had  been  innocently  watching  the  same 
scene,  and  at  its  climax  laughed  out  loud,  with  a 
rrank  and  musical  explosion,  and  then  suddenly 
disappeared  backward  into  his  mother's  lap. 
That  laugh  was  just  too  much,  and  Deacon 
Marble  could  no  more  help  laughing  than  could 
Deacon  Trowbridge  help  sleeping.  Nor  could 
he  conceal  it.  Though  he  coughed  and  put  up 
his  handkerchief  and  hemmed — it  was  a  laugh — 
Deacon! — and  every  boy  in  the  house  knew  it, 
and  liked  you  better  for  it — so  inexperienced 
were  they. — Norwood. 

THE  DEACON'S  TROUT 

He  was  a  curious  trout.  I  believe  he  knew 
Sunday  just  as  well  as  Deacon  Marble  did.  At 
any  rate,  the  Deacon  thought  the  trout  meant 
to  aggravate  him.  The  Deacon,  you  know,  is  a 
little  waggish.  He  often  tells  about  that  trout. 
Says  he:  "One  Sunday  morning,  just  as  I  got 
along  by  the  willows,  I  heard  an  awful  splash, 
and  not  ten  feet  from  shore  I  saw  the  trout,  as 
long  as  my  arm  just  curving  over  like  a  bow 
and  going  down  with  something  for  breakfast. 
43 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

Gracious!  says  I,  and  I  almost  jumped  out  of  the 
wagon.  But  my  wife  Polly,  says  she,  'What  on 
airth  are  you  thinkin'  of,  Deacon?  It's  Sabbath 
day,  and  you're  goin'  to  meetin'!  It's  a  pretty 
business  for  a  deacon!'  That  sort  o'  cooled  me 
off.  But  I  do  say  that,  for  about  a  minute,  I 
wished  I  was  n't  a  deacon.  But  'twouldn't  make 
any  difference,  for  I  came  down  next  day  to  mill 
on  purpose,  and  I  came  down  once  or  twice  more, 
and  nothin'  was  to  be  seen,  tho'  I  tried  him  with 
the  most  temptin'  things.  Wal,  next  Sunday 
I  came  along  agin,  and,  to  save  my  life  I  couldn't 
keep  off  worldly  and  wanderin'  thoughts.  I 
tried  to  be  say  in*  my  catechism,  but  I  couldn't 
keep  my  eyes  off  the  pond  as  we  came  up  to  the 
willows.  I'd  got  along  in  the  catechism,  as 
smooth  as  the  road,  to  the  Fourth  Command- 
ment, and  was  sayin'  it  out  loud  for  Polly  and 
jist  as  I  was  sayin'  'What  is  required  in  the 
Fourth  Commandment?'  I  heard  a  splash,  and 
there  was  the  trout,  and,  afore  I  could  think,  I 
said:  'Gracious,  Polly,  I  must  have  that  trout.' 
She  almost  riz  right  up,  'I  knew  you  wa'n't 
sayin*  your  catechism  hearty.  Is  this  the 
way  you  answer  the  question  about  keepin' 
the  Lord's  day?  I'm  ashamed,  Deacon  Marble,' 
says  she.  'You'd  better  change  your  road 
and  go  to  meetin'  on  the  road  over  the  hill. 
If  I  was  a  deacon,  I  would  n't  let  a  fish's  tail 
whisk  the  whole  catechism  out  of  my  head'; 
and  I  had  to  go  to  meetin'  on  the  hill  road 
all  the  rest  of  the  summer. ' '  —  Norwood. 


NOBLE  AND  THE  EMPTY  HOLE 

The  first  summer  which  we  spent  in  Lenox 
we  had  along  a  very  intelligent  dog,  named  Noble. 
He  was  learned  in  many  things,  and  by  his  dog- 
lore  excited  the  undying  admiration  of  all  the 
children.  But  there  were  some  things  which 
Noble  could  never  learn.  Having  on  one  occa- 
sion seen  a  red  squirrel  run  into  a  hole  in  a  stone 
wall,  he  could  not  be  persuaded  that  he  was  not 
there  forevermore. 

Several  red  squirrels  lived  close  to  the  house, 
and  had  become  familiar,  but  not  tame.  They 
kept  up  a  regular  romp  with  Noble.  They  would 
come  down  from  the  maple  trees  with  provoking 
coolness;  they  would  run  along  the  fence  almost 
within  reach ;  they  would  cock  their  tails  and  sail 
across  the  road  to  the  barn;  and  yet  there  was 
such  a  well-timed  calculation  under  all  this  appar- 
ent rashness,  that  Noble  invariably  arrived  at 
the  critical  spot  just  as  the  squirrel  left  it. 

On  one  occasion  Noble  was  so  close  upon  his 
red-backed  friend  that,  unable  to  get  up  the  maple 
tree,  the  squirrel  dodged  into  a  hole  in  the  wall, 
ran  through  the  chinks,  emerged  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, and  sprang  into  the  tree.  The  intense 
enthusiasm  of  the  dog  at  that  hole  can  hardly 
be  described.  He  filled  it.  full  of  barking.  He 
pawed  and  scratched  as  if  undermining  a  bastion. 
Standing  off  at  a  little  distance,  he  would  pierce 
4j 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

the  hole  with  a  gaze  as  intense  and  fixed  as  if  he 
were  trying  magnetism  on  it.  Then,  with  tail 
extended,  and  every  hair  thereon  electrified, 
he  would  rush  at  the  empty  hole  with  a  pro- 
digious onslaught. 

This  imaginary  squirrel  haunted  Noble  night 
and  day.  The  very  squirrel  himself  would  run 
up  before  his  face  into  the  tree,  and,  crouched 
in  a  crotch,  would  sit  silently  watching  the  whole 
process  of  bombarding  the  empty  hole,  with  great 
sobriety  and  relish.  But  Noble  would  allow  of 
no  doubts.  His  conviction  that  that  hole  had  a 
squirrel  in  it  continued  unshaken  for  six  weeks. 
When  all  other  occupations  failed,  this  hole 
remained  to  him.  When  there  were  no  more 
chickens  to  harry,  no  pigs  to  bite,  no  cattle  to 
chase,  no  children  to  romp  with,  no  expeditions 
to  make  with  the  grown  folks,  and  when  he  had 
slept  all  that  his  dogskin  would  hold,  he  would 
walk  out  of  the  yard,  yawn  and  stretch  himself, 
and  then  look  wistfully  at  the  hole,  as  if  thinking 
to  himself,  "Well,  as  there  is  nothing  else  to  do,  I 
may  as  well  try  that  hole  again! " — Eyes  and  Ears. 

N.  P.  Willis  was  usually  the  life  of  the  company 
he  happened  to  be  in.  His  repartee  at  Mrs. 
Gales's  dinner  in  Washington  is  famous.  Mrs 
Gales  wrote  on  a  card  to  her  niece,  at  the  other 
end  of  the  table :  "Don't  flirt  so  with  Nat  Willis. " 
She  was  herself  talking  vivaciously  to  a  Mr.  Camp- 
bell.     Willis  wrote  the  niece's  reply: 

"  Dear  aunt,  don't  attempt  my  young  feelings  to  trammel 
Nor  strain  at  a  Nat  while  you  swallow  a  Campbell." 
46 


OLD  GRIMES 

Old  Grimes  is  dead ;  that  good  old  maf 

We  never  shall  see  more: 
He  used  to  wear  a  long,  black  coat, 

All   button'd   down   before. 

His  heart  was  open  as  the  day, 
His   feelings   all  were   true: 

His  hair  was  some  inclined  to  gray — 
He  wore  it  in  a  queue. 

Whene'er  he  heard  the  voice  of  pain, 
His  breast  with  pity  burn'd: 

The  large,  round  head  upon  his  cane 
From   ivory  was   turn'd. 

Kind  words  he  ever  had  for  all; 

He  knew  no  base  design: 
His  eyes  were  dark  and  rather  small, 

His  nose  was  aquiline. 

He  lived  at  peace  with  all  mankind,' 
In  friendship  he  was  true: 

His  coat  had  pocket-holes  behind, 
His   pantaloons  were   blue. 

Unharm'd,  the  sin  which  earth  pollute 

He   pass'd   securely   o'er, 
And  never  wore  a  pair  of  boots 

For  thirty  years  or  more. 
47 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

But  good  old  Grimes  is  now  at  rest. 

Nor  fears  misfortune's  frown: 
He  wore  a  double-breasted  vest — 

The  stripes  ran  up  and  down. 

He  modest  merit  sought  to  find, 

And  pay  it  its  desert: 
He  had  no  malice  in  his  mind, 

No  ruffles  on  his  shirt. 

His  neighbors  he  did  not  abuse — ■ 

Was  sociable  and  gay: 
He  wore  large  buckles  on  his  shoes, 

And   changed  them  every  day. 

His  knowledge,  hid  from  public  gaze 

He  did  not  bring  to  view, 
Nor  made  a  noise,  town-meeting  dayst 

As  many  people  do. 

His  worldly  goods  he  never  threw 
In  trust  to  fortune's  chances, 

But  lived  (as  all  his  brothers  do) 
In   easy   circumstances. 

Thus  undisturb'd  by  anxious  cares 
His  peaceful  moments  ran: 

And  everybody  said  he  was 
A  fine   old   gentleman. 

Albert  Gorton  GreenBc 
48 


IDENTIFIED 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne  was  a  kind-hearted 
man  as  well  as  a  great  novelist.  While  he  was 
consul  at  Liverpool  a  young  Yankee  walked  into 
his  office.  The  boy  had  left  home  to  seek  his 
fortune,  but  evidently  hadn't  found  it  yet, 
although  he  had  crossed  the  sea  in  his  search. 
Homesick,  friendless,  nearly  penniless,  he  wanted 
a  passage  home.  The  clerk  said  Mr.  Hawthorne 
could  not  be  seen,  and  intimated  that  the  boy 
was  not  American,  but  was  trying  to  steal  a 
passage.  The  boy  stuck  to  his  point,  and  the 
clerk  at  last  went  to  the  little  room  and  said  to 
Mr.  Hawthorne:  "Here's  a  boy  who  insists 
upon  seeing  you.  He  says  he  is  an  American, 
but  I  know  he  isn't."  Hawthorne  came  out  of 
the  room  and  looked  keenly  at  the  eager,  ruddy 
face  of  the  boy.  "You  want  a  passage  to 
America?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  you  say  you're  an  American?" 

"Yes,   sir." 

"From  what  part  of  America?" 

"United  States,  sir." 

"What  state?" 

"New  Hampshire,  sir." 

"Town?" 

"Exeter,  sir." 

Hawthorne  looked  at  him  for  a  minute  before 
49 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

asking  him  the  next  question.     "Who  sold  the 
best  apples  in  your  town?" 

i -milk  Folsom,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  with 
glistening  eye,  as  the  old  familiar  by-word 
brought  up  the  dear  old  scenes  of  home. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Hawthorne  to  the  clerk; 
"give  him  a  passage." 


ONE  BETTER 

Long  after  the  victories  of  Washington  over 
the  French  and  English  had  made  his  name 
familiar  to  all  Europe,  Doctor  Franklin  chanced 
to  dine  with  the  English  and  French  Ambassa- 
dors, when,  as  nearly  as  the  precise  words  can 
be  recollected,  the  following  toasts  were  drunk: 

"  'England' — The  Sun,  whose  bright  beams 
enlighten  and  fructify  the  remotest  corners  of 
the  earth." 

The  French  Ambassador,  filled  with  national 
pride,  but  too  polite  to  dispute  the  previous  toast, 
drank  the  following: 

"  'France' — The  Moon,  whose  mild,  steady 
and  cheering  rays  are  the  delight  of  all  nations, 
consoling  them  in  darkness  and  making  their 
dreariness  beautiful." 

Doctor  Franklin  then  rose,  and,  with  his 
usual  dignified  simplicity,  said: 

"  'George  Washington' — The  Joshua  who  com- 
manded the  Sun  and  Moon  to  stand  still,  and 
they  obeyed  him." 

SO 


MY  AUNT 

My  aunt!  my  dear  unmarried  aunti 

Long  years  have  o'er  her  flown, 
Yet  still  she  strains  the  aching  clasp 

That  binds  her  virgin  zone; 
I  know  it  hurts  her  —  though  she  lookt 

As  cheerful  as  she  can; 
Her  waist  is  ampler  than  her  life, 

For  life  is  but  a  span. 

My  aunt,  my  poor  deluded  aunt! 

Her  hair  is  almost  gray; 
Why  will  she  train  that  winter  curl 

In  such  a  spring-like  way? 
How  can  she  lay  her  glasses  down, 

And  say  she  reads  as  well, 
When,  through  a  double  convex  lens, 

She  just  makes  out  to  spell? 

Her     father  —  grandpapa!  forgive 

This  erring  lip  its  smiles — 
Vowed  she  would  make  the  finest  girl 

Within  a  hundred  miles. 
He  sent  her  to  a  stylish  school; 

'Twas  in  her  thirteenth  June; 
And  with  her,  as  the  rules  required, 

"Two  towels  and  a  spoon." 

They  braced  my  aunt  against  a  board 
To  make  her  straight  and  tall ; 
51 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

They  laced  her  up,  they  starved  her  down. 

To  make  her  light  and  small; 
They  pinched  her  feet,  they  singed  her  hair, 

They  screwed  it  up  with  pins — 
O  never  mortal  suffered  more 

In  penance  for  her  sins. 

So,  when  my  precious  aunt  was  done, 

My  grandsire  brought  her  back 
(By  daylight,  lest  some  rabid  youth 

Might  follow  on  the  track) ; 
"Ah!"  said  my  grandsire,  as  he  shook 

Some  powder  in  his  pan, 
"What  could  this  lovely  creature  do 

.Against  a  desperate  man!" 

Alas!  nor  chariot  nor  barouche 

Nor  bandit  cavalcade 
Tore  from  the  trembling  father's  arms 

His  all-accomplished  maid. 
For  her  how  happy  had  it  been! 

And  Heaven  had  spared  to  me 
To  see  one  sad,  ungathered  rose 

On  my  ancestral  tree. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 


52 


N.   P.  WILLIS 

MISS  ALBINA  McLUSH 

I  have  a  passion  for  fat  women.  If  there  is 
anything  I  hate  in  life,  it  is  what  dainty  people 
call  a  spiriluelle.  Motion  —  rapid  motion  —  a 
smart,  quick,  squirrel-like  step,  a  pert,  voluble 
tone — in  short,  a  lively  girl — is  my  exquisite 
horror!  I  would  as  lief  have  a  diable  petit  danc- 
ing his  infernal  hornpipe  on  my  cerebellum  as  to 
be  in  the  room  with  one.  I  have  tried  before 
now  to  school  myself  into  liking  these  parched 
peas  of  humanity.  I  have  followed  them  with 
my  eyes,  and  attended  to  their  rattle  till  I  was  as 
crazy  as  a  fly  in  a  drum.  I  have  danced  with 
them,  and  romped  with  them  in  the  country,  and 
periled  the  salvation  of  my  white  "tights"  by 
sitting  near  them  at  supper.  I  swe?.r  off  from 
this  movement.  I  do.  I  won't — no — hang  me 
if  ever  I  show  another  small,  lively,  spry  woman 
a  civility. 

Albina  McLush  is  divine.  She  is  like  the 
description  of  the  Persian  beauty  by  Hafiz :  "Her 
heart  is  full  of  passion  and  her  eyes  are  full  of 
sleep."  She  is  the  sister  of  Lurly  McLush,  my 
old  college  chum,  who,  as  early  as  his  sophomore 
year,  was  chosen  president  of  the  Dolce  jar  niente 
Society — no  member  of  which  was  ever  known 
to  be  surprised  at  anything — (the  collega  law  of 
SB 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

rising  before  breakfast  excepted).  Lurly  intro- 
duced me  to  his  sister  one  day,  as  he  was  lying 
upon  a  heap  of  turnips,  leaning  on  his  elbow  with 
his  head  in  his  hand,  in  a  green  lane  in  the  suburbs. 
He  had  driven  over  a  stump,  and  been  tossed  out 
of  his  gig,  and  I  came  up  just  as  he  was  wondering 

how  in  the  D l's  name  he  got  there!     Albina 

sat  quietly  in  the  gig,  and  when  I  was  presented, 
requested  me,  with  a  delicious  drawl,  to  say 
nothing  about  the  adventure  — it  would  be  so 
troublesome  to  relate  it  to  everybody!  I  loved 
her  from  that  moment.  Miss  McLush  was  tall, 
and  her  shape,  of  its  kind,  was  perfect.  It  was 
not  a  fleshy  one  exactly,  but  she  was  large  and 
full.  Her  skin  was  clear,  fine-grained  and  trans- 
parent; her  temples  and  forehead  perfectly 
rounded  and  polished,  and  her  lips  and  chin 
swelling  into  a  ripe  and  tempting  pout,  like  the 
cleft  of  a  bursted  apricot.  And  then  her  eyes — 
large,  liquid  and  sleepy — they  languished 
beneath  their  long  black  fringes  as  if  they  had 
no  business  with  daylight — like  two  magnificent 
dreams,  surprised  in  their  jet  embryos  by  some 
bird-nesting  cherub.  Oh!  it  was  lovely  to  look 
into  them! 

She  sat,  usually,  upon  a  fauteuil,  with  her 
large,  full  arm  embedded  in  the  cushion,  some- 
times for  hours  without  stirring.  I  have  seen 
the  wind  lift  the  masses  of  dark  hair  from  her 
shoulders  when  it  seemed  like  the  coming  to  life 
of  a  marble  Hebe — she  had  been  motionless  so 
long.  She  was  a  model  for  a  goddess  of  sleep 
54 


Miss  Albina  McLush 

as  she  sat  with  her  eyes  half  closed,  lifting  up 
their  superb  lids  slowly  as  you  spoke  to  her,  and 
dropping  them  again  with  the  deliberate  motion 
of  a  cloud,  when  she  had  murmured  out  her 
syllable  of  assent.  Her  figure,  in  a  sitting  posture 
presented  a  gentle  declivity  from  the  curve  of 
her  neck  to  the  instep  of  the  small  round  foot 
lying  on  its  side  upon  the  ottoman.  I  remember 
a  fellow's  bringing  her  a  plate  of  fruit  one  eve- 
ning. He  was  one  of  your  lively  men — a  horrid 
monster,  all  right  angles  and  activity.  Having 
never  been  accustomed  to  hold  her  own  plate, 
she  had  not  well  extricated  her  whole  fingers 
from  her  handkerchief  before  he  set  it  down  on 
her  lap.  As  it  began  to  slide  slowly  toward  her 
feet,  her  hand  relapsed  into  the  muslin  folds,  and 
she  fixed  her  eye  upon  it  with  a  kind  of  indolent 
surprise,  drooping  her  lids  gradually  till,  as  the 
fruit  scattered  over  the  ottoman,  they  closed 
entirely,  and  a  liquid  jet  line  was  alone  visible 
through  the  heavy  lashes.  There  was  an  impe- 
rial indifference  in  it  worthy  of  Juno. 

Miss  McLush  rarely  walks.  When  she  does, 
it  is  with  the  deliberate  majesty  of  a  Dido.  Her 
small,  plump  feet  melt  to  the  ground  like  snow- 
flakes;  and  her  figure  sways  to  the  indolent 
motion  of  her  limbs  with  a  glorious  grace  and 
yieldingness  quite  indescribable.  She  was  idling 
slowly  up  the  Mall  one  evening  just  at  twilight, 
with  a  servant  at  a  short  distance  behind  her, 
who,  to  while  away  the  time  between  his  steps, 
was  employing  himself  in  throwing  stones  at 
55 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

cows  feeding  upon  the  Common.  A  gentleman, 
with  a  natural  admiration  for  her  splendid 
person,  addressed  her.  He  might  have  done  a 
more  eccentric  thing.  Without  troubling  hersel " 
to  look  at  him,  she  turned  to  her  servant  and 
requested  him,  with  a  yawn  of  desperate 
ennui  to  knock  that  fellow  down!  John 
obeyed  his  orders;  and,  as  his  mistress  resumed 
her  lounge,  picked  up  a  new  handful  of  pebbles, 
and  tossing  one  at  the  nearest  cow,  loitered 
lazily  after. 

Such  supreme  indolence  was  irresistible.  I 
gave  in  —  I  —  who  never  before  could  sum- 
mon energy  to  sigh  —  I  —  to  whom  a  declara- 
tion was  but  a  synonym  for  perspiration  —  I 
— who  had  only  thought  of  love  as  a  nervous 
complaint,  and  of  women  but  to  pray  for  a 
good  deliverance  —  I  —  yes  —  I  —  knocked 
under.  Albina  McLush!  Thou  wert  too  ex- 
quisitely lazy.  Human  sensibilities  cannot 
hold  out  forever. 

I  found  her  one  morning  sipping  her  coffee  at 
twelve,  with  her  eyes  wide  open.  She  was  just 
from  the  bath,  and  her  complexion  had  a  soft, 
dewy  transparency,  like  the  cheek  of  Venus 
rising  from  the  sea.  It  was  the  hour,  Lurly  had 
told  me,  when  she  would  be  at  the  trouble  of 
thinking.  She  put  away  with  her  dimpled  fore- 
finger, as  I  entered,  a  cluster  of  rich  curls  that 
had  fallen  over  her  face,  and  nodded  to  me  like 
a  water-lily  swaying  to  the  wind  when  its  cup  is 
full  of  rain. 

56 


Miss  Albina  McLush 

"JLady  Albina,"  said  I,  in  my  softest  tone, 
" how  are  you?" 

"Bettina,"  said  she,  addressing  her  maid  in  a 
voice  as  clouded  and  rich  as  the  south  wind  on  an 
^olian,  "how  am  I  to-day?" 

The  conversation  fell  into  short  sentences. 
The  dialogue  became  a  monologue.  I  entered 
upon  my  declaration.  With  the  assistance  of 
Bettina,  who  supplied  her  mistress  with  cologne, 
I  kept  her  attention  alive  through  the  incipient 
circumstances.  Symptoms  were  soon  told.  I 
came  to  the  avowal.  Her  hand  lay  reposing  on 
the  arm  of  the  sofa,  half  buried  in  a  muslin 
foulard.  I  took  it  up  and  pressed  the  cool  soft 
fingers  to  my  lips — unforbidden.  I  rose  and 
looked  into  her  e3'es  for  confirmation.  Delicious 
creature!     She  was  asleep! 

I  never  have  had  courage  to  renew  the  subject. 
Miss  McLush  seems  to  have  forgotten  it  altogether. 
Upon  reflection,  too,  I'm  convinced  she  would 
not  survive  the  excitement  of  the  ceremony 
— unless,  indeed,  she  should  sleep  between 
the  responses  and  the  prayer.  I  am  still 
devoted,  however,  and  if  there  should  come 
a  war  or  an  earthquake,  or  if  the  millennium 
should  commence,  as  is  expected  in  18 — , 
or  if  anything  happens  that  can  keep  her 
waking  so  long,  I  shall  deliver  a  declaration, 
abbreviated  for  me  by  a  scholar-friend  of 
mine,  which,  he  warrants,  may  be  articulated 
in  fifteen  minutes — without  fatigue. 


57 


A  SMACK  IN  SCHOOL 

A.  district  school,  not  far  away, 
'Mid  Berkshire's  hills,  one  winter's  day. 
Was  humming  with  its  wonted  noise 
Of  threescore  mingled  girls  and  boys; 
Some  few  upon  their  tasks  intent 
But  more  on  furtive  mischief  bent. 
The  while  the  master's  downward  look 
Was  fastened  on  a  copy-book; 
When  suddenly,  behind  his  back, 
Rose  sharp  and  clear  a  rousing  smack! 
As  'twere  a  battery  of  bliss 
Let  off  in  one  tremendous  kiss! 
"What's  that?"  the  startled  master  cries 
"That,  thir,"  a  little  imp  replies, 
"Wath  William  Willith,  if  you  pleath— 
I  thaw  him  kith  Thuthanna  Peathe!" 
With  frown  to  make  a  statue  thrill, 
The  master  thundered,  "Hither,  Will." 
Like  wretch  o'ertaken  in  his  track, 
With  stolen  chattels  on  his  back, 
Will  hung  his  head  in  fear  and  shame, 
And  to  the  awful  presence  came — 
A  great,  green,  bashful  simpleton, 
The  butt  of  all  good-natured  fun. 
With  smile  suppressed,  and  birch  upraised 
The   thunderer   faltered — "I'm   amazed 
That  you,  my  biggest  pupil,  should 
Be  guilty  of  an  act 'so  rude! 
Before  the  whole  set  school  to  boot — 
58 


A  Rendition 

What  evil  genius  put  you  to't?  " 

"  'Twas  she  herself,  sir,"  sobbed  the  lad; 

' '  I  did  not  mean  to  be  so  bad ; 

But  when  Susannah   shook  her  curls, 

And  whispered,  I  was  'fraid  of  girls 

And  dursn't  kiss  a  baby's  doll, 

I  couldn't  stand  it,  sir,  at  all, 

But  up  and  kissed  her  on  the  spot! 

I  know — boo — hoo — I  ought  to  not, 

But,  somehow,  from  her  looks — boo — hoo — 

I  thought  she  kind  o'  wished  me  to! " 

William    Pitt    Palmer. 


A  RENDITION 

Two  old  British  sailors  were  talking  over  theii 
shoie  experience.  One  had  been  to  a  cathedral 
and  had  heard  some  very  fine  music,  and  was 
descanting  particularly  upon  an  anthsm  which 
gave  him  much  pleasure.  His  shipmate  listened 
for   awhile,   and  then  said: 

"I   say,   Bill,  what's  a  hanthem?" 

"What,"  replied  Bill,  "do  you  mean  to  say 
you  don't  know  what  a  hanthem  is?" 

"Not  me." 

"Well,  then,  I  '11  tell  yer.  If  I  was  to  tell  yer, 
'  'Ere,  Bill,  give  me  that  'andspike,'  that  wouldn't 
be  a  hanthem;  but  was  I  to  say,  'Bill,  Bill,  giv, 
giv,  give  me,  give  me  that,  Bill,  give  me,  give  me 
that  hand,  handspike,  hand,  handspike,  spike, 
spike,  spike,  ah-men,  ahmen.  Bill,  givemethat- 
handspike,  spike,  ahmen!'  why,  that  would  be  a 
hanthem." 

59 


B.  P.  SHILLABER    ("Mrs.    Partington") 

FANCY  DISEASES 

"Diseases  is  very  various,"  said  Mrs.  Parting- 
ton, as  she  returned  from  a  street-door  conversa- 
tion with  Doctor  Bolus.  "The  Doctor  tells  me 
that  poor  old  Mrs.  Haze  has  got  two  buckles  on 
her  lungs!  It  is  dreadful  to  think  of,  I  declare. 
The  diseases  is  50  various!  One  way  we  hear  of 
people's  dying  of  hermitage  of  the  lungs;  another 
way  of  the  brown  creatures;  here  they  tell  us  of 
the  elementary  canal  being  out  of  order,  and 
there  about  tonsors  of  the  throat;  here  we  hear 
of  neurology  in  the  head,  there,  of  an  embargo; 
one  side  of  us  we  hear  of  men  being  killed  by 
getting  a  pound  of  tough  beef  in  the  sarcofogus, 
and  there  another  kills  himself  by  discovering 
his  jocular  vein.  Things  change  so  that  I 
declare  I  don't  know  how  to  subscribe  for  any 
diseases  nowadays.  New  names  and  new  nos- 
trils takes  the  place  of  the  old,  and  I  might  as 
well  throw  my  old  herb-bag  away." 

Fifteen  minutes  afterward  Isaac  had  that 
herb-bag  for  a  target,  and  broke  three  squares  of 
glass  in  the  cellar  window  in  trying  to  hit  it, 
before  the  old  lady  knew  what  he  was  about. 
She  didn't  mean  exactly  what  she  said. 


eo 


Bailed  Out 

BAILED   OUT 

"So,  our  neighbor,  Mr.  Guzzle,  has  been 
arranged  at  the  bar  for  drunkardice,"  said  Mrs. 
Partington;  and  she  sighed  as  she  thought  of  his 
wife  and  children  at  home,  with  the  cold  weather 
close  at  hand,  and  the  searching  winds  intruding 
through  the  chinks  in  the  windows,  and  waving 
the  battered  curtain  like  a  banner,  where  the 
little  ones  stood  shivering  by  the  faint  embers. 
"God  forgive  him,  and  pity  them!"  said  she,  in 
a  tone  of  voice  tremulous  with  emotion. 

"But  he  was  bailed  out,"  said  Ike,  who  had 
devoured  the  residue  of  the  paragraph,  and  laid 
the  paper  in  a  pan  of  liquid  custard  that  the 
dame  was  preparing  for  Thanksgiving,  and  sat 
swinging  the  oven  door  to  and  fro  as  if  to  fan  the 
fire  that  crackled  and  blazed  within. 

"Bailed  out,  was  he?"  said  she;  "well,  I 
should  think  it  would  have  been  cheaper  to  have 
pumped  him  out,  for,  when  our  cellar  was  filled, 
arter  the  city  fathers  had  degraded  the  street, 
we  had  to  have  it  pumped  out,  though  there 
wasn't  half  so  much  in  it  as  he  has  swilled  down." 

She  paused  and  reached  up  on  the  high  shelves 
of  the  closet  for  her  pie  plates,  while  Ike  busied 
himself  in  tasting  the  various  preparations.  The 
dame  thought  that  was  the  smallest  quart  of 
sweet  cider  she  had  ever  seen. 

SEEKING  A  COMET 
It  was  with  an  anxious  feeling  that  Mrs.  Par- 
tington, having  smoked  her  specs,  directed  her 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

gaze  toward  the  western  sky,  in  quest  of  the 
tailless  comet  of   1850. 

"I  can't  see  it,"  said  she;  and  a  shade  of  vexa- 
tion was  perceptible  in  the  tone  of  her  voice. 
"I  don't  think  much  of  this  explanatory  system," 
continued  she,  "that  they  praise  so,  where  the 
stars  are  mixed  up  so  that  /  can't  tell  Jew  Peter 
from  Satan,  nor  the  consternation  of  the  Great 
Bear  from  the  man  in  the  moon.  Tis  all  dark 
to  me.  I  don't  believe  there  is  any  comet  at  all. 
Who  ever  heard  of  a  comet  without  a  tail,  I 
should  like  to  know?  It  isn't  natural,  but  the 
printers  will  make  a  tale  for  it  fast  enough,  for 
they  are  always  getting  up  comical  stories." 

With  a  complaint  about  the  falling  dew,  and  a 
slight  murmur  of  disappointment,  the  dame  dis- 
appeared behind  a  deal  door  like  the  moon 
behind  a  cloud. 

GOING  TO  CALIFORNIA 

"Dear  me!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Partington 
sorrowfully,  ' '  how  much  a  man  will  bear,  and  how 
far  he  will  go,  to  get  the  soddered  dross,  as 
Parson  Martin  called  it  when  he  refused  the 
beggar  a  sixpence  for  fear  it  might  lead  him  into 
extravagance!  Everybody  is  going  to  California 
and  Chagrin  arter  gold.  Cousin  Jones  and  the 
three  Smiths  have  gone;  and  Mr.  Chip,  the  car- 
penter, has  left  his  wife  and  seven  children  and 
a  blessed  old  mother-in-law,  to  seek  his  fortin, 
too.     This  is  the  strangest  yet,  and  I  don't  see 


Mrs.  Partington  in  Court 

how  he  could  have  done  it ;  it  looks  so  ongratef ul 
to  treat  Heaven's  blessings  so  lightly.  But  there, 
we  are  told  that  the  love  of  money  is  the  root  of 
all  evil,  and  how  true  it  is!  for  they  are  now  root- 
ing arter  it,  like  pigs  arter  ground-nuts.  Why, 
it  is  a  perfect  money  mania  among  everybody!" 
And  she  shook  her  head  doubtingly,  as  she 
pensively  watched  a  small  mug  of  cider,  with  an 
apple  in  it,  simmering  by  the  winter  fire.  She 
was  somewhat  fond  of  a  drink  made  in  this  way. 

MRS.   PARTINGTON  IN  COURT 

"I  took  my  knitting- work  and  went  up  into 
the  gallery,"  said  Mrs.  Partington,  the  day  after 
visiting  one  of  the  city  courts;  "I  went  up  into 
the  gallery,  and  after  I  had  adjusted  my  specs, 
I  looked  down  into  the  room,  but  I  couldn't  see 
any  courting  going  on.  An  old  gentleman 
seemed  to  be  asking  a  good  many  impertinent 
questions — just  like  some  old  folks — and  people 
were  sitting  around  making  minutes  of  the  con- 
versation. I  don't  see  how  they  made  out  what 
was  said,  for  they  all  told  different  stories. 
How  much  easier  it  would  be  to  get  along  if  they 
were  all  made  to  tell  the  same  story!  What  a 
sight  of  trouble  it  would  save  the  lawyers!  Th*- 
case,  as  they  call  it,  was  given  to  the  jury,  but  I 
couldn't  see  it,  and  a  gentleman  with  a  long  pole 
was  made  to  swear  that  he'd  keep  an  eye  on  'em, 
and  see  that  they  didn't  run  away  with  it. 
Bimeby  in  they  came  again,  and  they  said 
63 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

somebody  was  guilty  of  something,  who  haa 
just  said  he  was  innocent,  and  didn't  know 
nothing  about  it  no  more  than  the  little  baby 
that  had  never  subsistence.  I  come  away 
soon  afterward;  but  I  couldn't  help  thinking 
how  trying  it  must  be  to  sit  there  all  day,  shut 
out  from  the  blessed  air!" 


Apropos  of  Superintendent  Andrews's  reported 
objection  to  the  singing  of  the  "Recessional"  in 
the  Chicago  public  schools  on  the  ground  that  the 
atheists  might  be  offended,  the  Chicago  Post  says: 
"For  the  benefit  of  our  skittish  friends,  the 
atheists,  and  in  order  not  to  deprive  the  public- 
school  children  of  the  literary  beauties  of  certain 
poems  that  may  be  classed  by  Doctor  Andrews 
as  'hymns,'  we  venture  to  suggest  this  com- 
promise, taking  a  few  lines  in  illustration  from 
our  National  anthem: 
"'Our  fathers'  God — assuming  purely  for  the 

sake  of  argument  that  there    is   a   God — 

to  Thee,  Author  of  liberty — with  apologies 

to  our  friends,  the  atheists — 
To  Thee  I  sing — but  we  needn't  mean  it,  you 

know. 
Long  may  our  land  be  bright, 
With  freedom's  holy  light; 
Protect   us  by   Thy  might — remember,   this  is 

purely   hypothetical — 
Great  God — again  assuming  that  there  is  a  God 

— our  King — simply  an  allegorical  phrase  and 

not  intended  offensively  to  any  taxpayer.'" 
64 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

LATTER-DAY  WARNINGS 

When  legislators  keep  the  law, 

When  banks  dispense  with  bolts  and  locks,- 
When  berries — whortle,  rasp,   and  straw — 

Grow  bigger  downwards  through  the  box, — 

When  he  that  selleth  house  or  land 
Shows  leak  in  roof  or  flaw  in  right, — 

Whon  haberdashers  choose  the  stand 

Whose  window  hath  the  broadest  light, — 

When  preachers  tell  us  all  they  think, 
And  party  leaders  all  they  mean, — ■ 

When  what  we  pay  for,  that  we  drink, 
From  real  grape  and  coffee-bean, — 

When  lawyers  take  what  they  would  give, 
And  doctors  give  what  they  would  take, — 

When  city  fathers  eat  to  live, 

Save  when  they  fast  for  conscience'  sake, — 

When  one  that  hath  a  horse  on  sale 
Shall  bring  his  merit  to  the  proof, 

Without  a  lie  for  every  nail 

That  holds  the  iron  on  the  hoof, — 
65 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

When  in  the  usual  place  for  rips 

Our  gloves  are  stitched  with  special  care, 

And  guarded  well  the  whalebone  tips 
Where  first  umbrellas  need  repair, — 

When  Cuba's  weeds  have  quite  forgot 

The  power  of  suction  to  resist, 
And  claret-bottles  harbor  not 

Such  dimples  as  would  hold  your  fist, — 

When  publishers  no  longer  steal, 

And  pay  for  what  they  stole  before, — 

When  the  first  locomotive's  wheel 

Rolls   through   the    Hoosac   tunnel's   bore;- 

Till  then  let  Cumming  blaze  away, 
And  Miller's  saints  blow  up  the  globe; 

But  when  you  see  that  blessed  day, 
Then  order  your  ascension  robe! 

CONTENTMENT 

"Man  wants  but  little  here  below" 

Little  I  ask;  my  wants  are  few; 

I  only  wish  a  hut  of  stone 
(A  very  plain  brownstone  will  do), 

That  I  may  call  my  own: — 
And  close  at  hand  is  such  a  one, 
In  yonder  street  that  fronts  the  sun. 

Plain  food  is  quite  enough  for  me; 
Three  courses  are  as  good  as  ten; — ■ 
66 


Contentmenl 

If  Nature  can  subsist  on  three, 

Thank  Heaven  for  three.     Amen: 
I  always  thought  cold  victual  nice; — 
My  choice  would  be  vanilla-ice. 

I  care  not  much  for  gold  or  land ; — 

Give  me  a  mortgage  here  and  there, — 

Some  good  bank-stock,   some  note  of  hand 
Or  trifling  railroad  share, — 

I  only  ask  that  Fortune  send 

A  little  more  than  I  shall  spend. 

Honors  are  silly  toys,  I  know, 
And  titles  are  but  empty  names; 

I  would,  perhaps,  be  Plenipo, — 
But  only  near  St.  James; 

I'm  very  sure  I  should  not  care 

To  fill  our  Gubernator's  chair. 

Jewels  are  bawbles ;  'tis  a  sin 

To  care  for  such  unfruitful  things; — - 
One  good-sized  diamond  in  a  oin, — 

Some,  not  so  large,  in  rings, — 
A  ruby,  and  a  pearl,  or  so, 
Will  do  for  me ; — I  laugh  at  show. 

My  dame  should  dress  in  cheap  attire 
(Good,  heavy  silks  are  never  dear); 

I  own  perhaps  I  might  desire 

Some  shawls  of  true  Cashmere, — 

Some  marrowy  crapes  of  China  silk, 

Like  wrinkled  skins  on  scalded  milk. 
67 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

I  would  not  have  the  horse  I  drive 

So  fast  that  folks  must  stop  and  stare; 

An  easy  gait — two,  forty- five — 
Suits  me ;  I  do  not  care ; — 

Perhaps,  for  just  a  single  spurt, 

Some  seconds  less  would  do  no  hurt. 

Of  pictures,  I  should  like  to  own 

Titians  and  Raphaels  three  or  four, — 

I  love  so  much  their  style  and  tone, — 
One  Turner,  and  no  more 

(A  landscape, — foreground  golden  dirt, — 

The  sunshine  painted  with  a  squirt). 

Of  books  but  few — some  fifty  score 
For  daily  use,  and  bound  for  wear; 

The  rest  upon  an  upper  floor; — 
Some  little  luxury  there 

Of  red  morocco's  gilded  gleam, 

And  vellum  rich  as  country  cream. 

Busts,    cameos,    gems, — such    things    as    these 
Which  others  often  show  for  pride, 

1  value  for  their  power  to  please, 
And  selfish  churls  deride; — 

One  Stradivarius,  I  confess, 

Two  Meerschaums,  I  would  fain  possess. 

Wealth's  wasteful  tricks  I  will  not  learn 
Nor  ape  the  glittering  upstart  fool; — 

Shall  not  carved  tables  serve  my  turn, 
But  all  must  be  of  buhl  ? 
68 


Contentment 

Give  grasping  pomp  its  double  share, - 
I  ask  but  one  recumbent  chair. 

Thus  humble  let  me  live  and  die, 
Nor  long  for  Midas's  golden  touch; 

If  Heaven  more  generous  gifts  deny, 
I  shall  not  miss  them  much, — 

Too  grateful  for  the  blessing  lent 

Of  simple  tastes  and  mind  content! 


In  a  small  town  out  West  an  ex-County  Judge 
is  cashier  of  the  bank. 

"The  cheque  is  all  right,  sir,"  he  said  to  a 
stranger,  "but  the  evidence  you  offer  in  identi- 
fying yourself  as  the  person  to  whose  order  it 
is  drawn  is  scarcely  sufficient." 

"I've  known  you  to  hang  a  man  on  less 
evidence,  Judge,"  was  the  stranger's  response. 

"Quite  likely,"  replied  the  ex- Judge,  "but 
when  it  comes  to  letting  go  of  cold  cash  we  have 
to  be  careful." 

A  prominent  San  Josean  reached  the  Third 
Street  depot  of  the  Southern  Pacific  Company 
in  an  inebriated  condition  and  asked  for  "a 
first-class  ticket,  please." 

"Where  do  you  want  to  go?"  said  the  ticket 
clerk,    somewhat    pointedly. 

There  was  a  pause,  while  the  inebriated  one 
muggily  reflected,  and  then  he  blandly  and 
politely  asked : 

"What  trains  have   you?" 
69 


FIVE  LIVES 

Five  mites  of  monads  dwelt  in  a  round  drop 
That  twinkled  on  a  leaf  by  a  pool  in  the  sun. 
To  the  naked  eye  they  lived  invisible; 
Specks,  for  a  world  of  whom  the  empty  shell 
Of  a  mustard-seed  had  been  a  hollow  sky. 

One  was  a  meditative  monad,  called  a  sage; 
And,  shrinking  all  his  mind  within,  he  thought: 
"Tradition,  handed  down  for  hours  and  hours, 
Tells  that  our  globe,  this  quivering  crystal  world, 
js  slowly  dying.     What  if,  seconds  hence 
When  I  am  very  old,  yon  shimmering  doom 
Comes  drawing  down  and  down,  till  all  things 

end? " 
Then  with  a  wizen  smirk  he  proudly  felt 
No  other  mote  of  God  had  ever  gained 
Such  giant  grasp  of  universal  truth. 

One  was  a  transcendental  monad ;  thin 
And  long  and  slim  of  mind;  and  thus  he  mused: 
"Oh,    vast,    unfathomable    monad-souls! 
Made  in  the  image" — a  hoarse  frog  croaks  from 

the  pool, 
"Hark!    'twas    some    god,    voicing   his   glorious 

thought 
In  thunder  music.     Yea,  we  hear  their  voice, 
And  we  may  guess  their  minds  from  ours,  their 

work. 
Some  taslje  they  have  like  ours,  some  tendency 
70 


Five  Lives 

To  wriggle  about,  and  munch  a  trace  of  scum." 
He  floated  up  on  a  pin-point  bubble  of  gas 
That  burst,  pricked  by  the  air,  and  lie  was  gone. 
One  was  a  barren-minded  monad,  called 
A  positivist;  and  he  knew  positively; 
"There  was  no  world  beyond  this  certain  drop. 
Prove    me    another!     Let    the   dreamers  dream 
Of  their  faint  gleams,  and  noises  from  without, 
And  higher  and  lower;  life  is  life  enough." 
Then  swaggering  half  a  hair's  breadth  hungrily, 
He  seized  upon  an  atom  of  bug,  and  fed. 

One  was  a  tattered  monad,  called  a  poet; 

And  with  a  shrill  voice  ecstatic  thus  he  sang: 

"Oh,  little  female  monad's  lips! 

Oh,  little  female  monad's  eyes! 

A.h,  the  little,  little,  female,  female  monad!" 

The  last  was  a  strong-minded  monadess, 

Who  dashed  amid  the  infusoria, 

Danced  high  and  low,  and  wildly  spun  and  dove, 

Till  the  dizzy  others  held  their  breath  to  see. 

But  while  they  led  their  wondrous  little  lives 

Ionian  moments  had  gone  wheeling  by, 

The  burning  drop  had  shrunk  with  fearful  speed ; 

A  glistening  film — 'twas  gone;   the  leaf  was  dry. 

The  little  ghost  of  an  inaudible  squeak 

Was  lost  to  the  frog  that  goggled  from  his  stone ; 

Who,  at  the  huge,  slow  tread  of  a  thoughtful  ox 

Coming  to  drink,  stirred  sideways  fatly,  plunged, 

Launched  backward  twice,  and  all  the  pool  was 

still. 

Edward  Rowland  Sill. 

71 


JAMES  T.  FIELDS 

THE  OWL-CRITIO 
A  Lesson  to  Fault-finders 

"Who  stuffed  that  white  owl?"     No  one  spoke 

in  the  shop: 
The  barber  was  busy  and  he  couldn't  stop; 
The    customers,    waiting   their   turns,   were    all 

reading 
The  Daily,  the  Herald,  the  Post,  little  heeding 
The  young  man  who  blurted  out  such  a  blunt 

question ; 
Not  one  raised  a  head  or  even  made  a  suggestion; 
And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 

"Don't  you  see,  Mister  Brown," 

Cried  the  youth,  with  a  frown, 

' '  How  wrong  the  whole  thing  is, 

How  preposterous  each  wing  is, 

How  flattened  the  head  is,  how  jammed  down 
the  neck  is — 

In  short,  the  whole  owl,  what  an  ignorant  wreck 
'tis! 

I  make  no  apology; 

I  've  learned  owl-eology. 

I've  passed  days  and  nights  in  a  hundred  collec- 
tions, 

And  cannot  be  blinded  to  any  deflections 

Arising  from  unskilful  fingers  that  fail 
72 


The  Owl-Critic 

To  stuff  a  bird  right,  from  his  beak  to  his  tail. 
Mister  Brown!  Mister  Brown! 
Do  take  that  bird  down, 

Or  you  '11  soon  be  the  laughing-stock  all  over 
town ! ' ' 

And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 

"I've  studied  owls, 
And  other  night  fowls, 
And  I  tell  you 
What  I  know  to  be  true: 
An  owl  cannot  roost 
With   his  limbs   so  unloosed; 
No  owl  in  this  world 
Ever  had  his  claws  curled, 
Ever  had  his  legs  slanted, 
Ever  had  his  bill  canted, 
Ever  had  his  neck  screwed 
Into  that   attitude. 
He  can't  do  it,  because 
'Tis    against    all    bird-laws. 
Anatomy  teaches, 
Ornithology   preaches 
An  owl  has  a  toe 
That  can't  turn  out  so! 

I've  made  the  white  owl  my  study  for  years, 
And  to  see  such  a  job  almost  moves  me  to  tears! 
Mister  Brown,  I'm  amazed 
You  should  be  so  gone  crazed 
As  to  put  up  a  bird 
In   that   posture   absurd! 

To  look  at  that  owl  really  brings  on  a  dizziness; 
73 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

The  man  who  stuffed  him  don't  half  know  his 
business! " 

And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 

"Examine  those  eyes. 
I'm  filled  with  surprise 
Taxidermists   should   pass 
Off  on  you  such  poor  glass; 
So  unnatural  they  seem 
They'd  make  Audubon  scream, 
And    John    Burroughs    laugh 
To    encounter    such    chaff. 
Do  take  that  bird  down; 
Have  him  stuffed  again,  Brown!" 

And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 

"With  some  sawdust  and  bark 

I  would  stuff  in  the  dark 

An  owl  better  than  that; 

I  could  make  an  old  hat 

Look  more  like  an  owl 

Than  that  horrid  fowl, 

Stuck  up  there  so  stiff  like  a  side  of  coarse  leather. 

In  fact,about/j«nthere's  not  one  natural  feather." 

Just  then,  with  a  wink  and  a  sly,  normal  lurch, 
The  owl,  very  gravely,  got  down  from  his  perch, 
Walked   round,   and  regarded  his  fault-finding 

critic 
(Who  thought  he  was  stuffed)   with   a  glance 

analytic, 
And  then  fairly  hooted,  as  if  he  should  say: 
74 


A  Cause  for  Thanks 

"Your  learning's  at  fault  this  time,  anyway; 
Don't  waste  it  again  on  a  live  bird,  I  pray. 
I'm  an  owl;  you're  another.     Sir  Critic,  good- 
day!  " 

And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 


A  CAUSE  FOR  THANKS 

A  country  parson,  in  encountering  a  storm 
the  past  season  in  the  voyage  across  the  Atlantic, 
was  reminded  of  the  following:  A  clergyman 
was  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  caught  in  a  severe 
gale  in  the  voyage  out.  The  water  was  exceed- 
ingly rough,  and  the  ship  persistently  buried  her 
nose  in  the  sea.  The  rolling  was  constant,  and 
at  last  the  good  man  got  thoroughly  frightened. 
He  believed  they  were  destined  for  a  watery 
grave.  He  asked  the  captain  if  he  could  not 
have  prayers.  The  captain  took  him  by  the 
arm  and  led  him  down  to  the  forecastle,  where 
the  tars  were  singing  and  swearing.  "There," 
said  he,  "when  you  hear  them  swearing,  you 
may  know  there  is  no  danger."  He  went  back 
feeling  better,  but  the  storm  increased  his  alarm. 
Disconsolate  and  unassisted,  he  managed  to 
stagger  to  the  forecastle  again.  The  ancient 
mariners  were  swearing  as  ever.  "Mary,"  he 
said  to  his  sympathetic  wife,  as  he  crawled  into 
his  berth  after  tacking  across  a  wet  deck,  "Mary, 
thank  God  they're  swearing  yet." 
75 


JOHN  HAY 

LITTLE  BREECHES 

I  don't  go  much  on  religion, 

I   never   ain't   had   no   show; 
But  I've  got  a  middlin'  tight  grip,  sir, 

On  the  handful  o'  things  I  know. 
I  don't  pan  out  on  the  prophets 

And  free-will  and  that  sort  of  thing- 
But  I  b'lieve  in  God  and  the  angels, 

Ever  sense  one  night  last  spring. 

I  come  into  town  with  some  turnips, 

And  my  little  Gabe  come  along — 
No  four-year-old  in  the  county 

Could  beat  him  for  pretty  and  strong 
Peart  and  chipper  and  sassy, 

Always  ready  to  swear  and  fight — 
And  I'd  larnt  him  to  chaw  terbacker 

Jest  to  keep  his  milk-teeth  white. 

The  snow  come  down  like  a  blanket 

As  I  passed  by  Taggart's  store; 
I  went  in  for  a  jug  of  molasses 

And  left  the  team  at  the  door. 
They  scared  at  something  and  started— 

I  heard  one  little  squall, 
And  hell-to-split  over  the  prairie 

Went  team,  Little  Breeches  and  all. 
76 


Little  Breeches 

Hell-to-split   over   the   prairie! 

I  was  almost  froze  with  skeer; 
But  we  rousted  up  some  torches, 

And  sarched  for  'em  far  and  near. 
At  last  we  struck  horses  and  wagon, 

Snowed  under  a  soft  white  mound, 
Upsot,  dead  beat — but  of  little  Gabe 

Nor  hide  nor  hair  was  found. 

And  here  all  hope  soured  on  me, 

Of    my    fellow-critters'    aid — 
I  jest  flopped  down  en  my  marrow-bones, 

Crotch-deep  in  the  snow,  and  prayed. 

By  this,  the  torches  was  played  out, 

And   me   and    Isrul    Parr 
Went  off  for  some  wood  to  a  sheepfold 

That  he  said  was  somewhar  thar. 

We  found  it  at  last,  and  a  little  shed 

Where  they  shut  up  the  lambs  at  night. 
We  looked  in  and  seen  them  huddled  thar, 

So  warm  and  sleepy  and  white; 
And  thar  sot  Little  Breeches,  and  chirped, 

As  peart  as  ever  you  see: 
"I  want  a  chaw  of  terbacker, 

And  that's  what's  the  matter  of  me." 

How  did  he  git  thar?     Angels. 

He  could  never  have  walked  in  that  storm; 
They  just  scooped  down  and  toted  him 

To  whar  it  was  safe  and  warm. 

77 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

And  I  think  that  saving  a  little  child, 
And  bringing  him  to  his  own 

Is  a  derned  sight  better  business 
Than  loafing  around  The  Throne. 


Artemus  Ward,  when  in  London,  gave  a 
children's  party.  One  of  John  Bright's  sons 
was  invited  and  returned  home  radiant.  "Oh, 
papa,"  he  explained,  on  being  asked  whether 
he  had  enjoyed  himself,  "indeed  I  did.  And 
Mr.  Browne  gave  me  such  a  nice  name  for  you, 
papa." 

"What   was   that?" 

"Why,  he  asked  me  how  that  gay  and  festive 
cuss,  the  governor,  was!"  replied  the  boy. 

It  was  on  a  train  going  through  Indiana. 
Among  the  passengers  were  a  newly  married 
couple,  who  made  themselves  known  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  occupants  of  the  car  commenced 
passing  sarcastic  remarks  about  them.  The 
bride  and  groom  stood  the  remarks  for  some 
time,  but  finally  the  latter,  who  was  a  man  of 
tremendous  size,  broke  out  in  the  following 
language  at  his  tormenters:  "Yes,  we're  married 
—  just  married.  We  are  going  160  miles 
farther,  and  I  am  going  to  'spoon'  all  the  way. 
If  you  don't  like  it,  you  can  get  out  and  walk. 
She's  my  violet  and  I'm  her  sheltering  oak." 

During  the  remainder  of  the  journey  they 
were  left  in  peace. 

78 


HENRY  W.  SHAW  ("Josh  Billings") 

NATRAL  AND  UNNATRAL 
ARISTOKRATS 

Natur  furnishes  all  the  nobleman  we  hav. 

She  holds  the  pattent. 

Pedigree  haz  no  more  to  do  in  making  a 
man  aktually  grater  than  he  is,  than  a  pekok's 
feather  in  his  hat  haz  in  making  him  aktually 
taller. 

This  iz  a  hard  phakt  for  some  tew  learn. 

This  mundane  earth  iz  thik  with  male  and 
femail  ones  who  think  they  are  grate  bekause 
their  ansesstor  waz  luckey  in  the  sope  or  tobacco 
trade;  and  altho  the  sope  haz  run  out  sumtime 
since,  they  try  tew  phool  themselves  and  other 
folks  with  the   suds. 

Sope-suds  iz  a  prekarious  bubble. 

Thare  ain't  nothing  so  thin  on  the  ribs  az  a 
sope-suds  aristokrat. 

When  the  world  stands  in  need  ov  an  aristo- 
krat, natur  pitches  one  into  it,  and  furnishes 
him  papers  without  enny  flaw  in  them. 

Aristokrasy  kant  be  transmitted — natur  sez 
so — in  the  papers. 

Titles  are  a  plan  got  up  bi  humans  tew  assist 
natur  in  promulgating  aristokrasy. 

Titles  ain't  ov  enny  more  real  use  or  necessity 
than  dog  collars  are. 

79 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

I  hav  seen  dog  collars  that  kost  3  dollars  on 
dogs  that  wan't  worth,  in  enny  market,  over 
87  £  cents. 

This  iz  a  grate  waste  of  collar;  and  a  grate 
damage    tew    the    dog. 

Natur  don't  put  but  one  ingredient  into  her 
kind  ov  aristokrasy,  and  that  is  virtew. 

She  wets  up  the  virtew,  sumtimes,  with  a 
little  pepper  sass,  just  tew  make  it  lively. 

She  sez  that  all  other  kinds  are  false;  and  i 
beleave  natur. 

I  wish  every  man  and  woman  on  earth  waz  a 
bloated  aristokrat — bloated  with  virtew. 

Earthly  manufaktured  aristokrats  are  made 
principally  out  ov  munny. 

Forty  years  ago  it  took  about  85  thousand 
dollars  tew  make  a  good-sized  aristokrat,  and 
innokulate  his  family  with  the  same  disseaze 
but  it  takes  now  about  600  thousand  tew  throw 
the  partys  into  fits. 

Aristokrasy,  like  of  the  other  bred  stuffs, 
haz    riz. 

It  don't  take  enny  more  virtew  tew  make  an 
aristokrat  now,  nor  clothes,  than  it  did  in  the 
daze  ov  Abraham. 

Virtew  don't  vary. 

Virtew  is  the  standard  ov  values. 

Clothes  ain't. 

Titles  ain't. 

A  man  kan  go  barefoot  and  be  virtewous,  and 
be  an  aristokrat. 

Diogoneze  waz  an  aristokrat. 
80 


Natral  and  Unnatral  Aristokrats 

His  brown-stun  front  vaz  a  tub,  and  it  want 
on  end,  at  that. 

Moneyed  anstokrasy  iz  very  good  to  liv  on 
in  the  present  hi  kondishun  ov  kodphis  and 
wearing  apparel,  provided  yu  see  the  munny, 
but  if  the  munny  kind  of  tires  out  and 
don't  reach  yu,  and  you  don't  git  ennything 
but  the  aristokrasy,  you  have  got  to  diet* 
that's  all. 

I  kno  ov  thousands  who  are  now  dieting  on 
aristokrasy. 

They  say  it  tastes  good. 

I  presume  they  lie  without  knowing  it. 

Not  enny  ov  this  sort  ov  aristokrasy  for 
Joshua  Billings. 

I  never  should  think  ov  mixing  munny  and 
aristokrasy  together;  i  will  take  mine  separate, 
if  yu  pleze. 

I  don't  never  expekt  tew  be  an  aristokrat,  nor 
an  angel;  i  don't  kno  az  i  want  tew  be  one. 

I  certainly  should  make  a  miserable  angel. 

I  certainly  never  shall  hav  munny  enuff  tew 
make  an  aristokrat. 

Raising  aristokrats  iz  a  dredful  poor  bizzness; 
yu  don't  never  git  your  seed  back. 

One  democrat  iz  worth  more  tew  the  world 
than  60  thousand  manufaktured  aristokrats. 

An  Amerikan  aristokrat  iz  the  most  ridikilus 
thing  in  market.  They  are  generally  ashamed 
ov  their  ansesstors;  and,  if  they  hav  enny,  and 
live  long  enuff,  they  generally  hav  cauze  tew  be 
ashamed  ov  their  posterity 
RJ 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

I  kno  ov  sevral  familys  in  Amerika  who  are 
trieing  tew  liv  on  their  aristokrasy.  The  money 
and  branes  giv  out  sumtime  ago. 

It  iz  hard  skratching  for  them. 

Yu  kan  warm  up  kold  potatoze  and  liv  on 
them,  but  yu  kant  warm  up  aristokratik  pride 
and  git  even  a  smell. 

Yu  might  az  well  undertake  tew  rase  a  krop 
ov  korn  in  a  deserted  brikyard  by  manuring  the 
ground   heavy  with   tanbark. 

Yung  man,  set  down,  and  keep  still — yu  will 
hav  plenty  ov  chances  yet  to  make  a  phool  ov 
yureself  before  yu  die. 


It  is  told  of  an  old  Baptist  parson,  famous  in 
Virginia,  that  he  once  visited  a  plantation  where 
che  colored  servant  who  met  him  at  the  gate 
asked  which  barn  he  would  have  his  horse 
put  in. 

"Have  you  two  barns?"  asked  the  minister. 

"Yes,  sah,"  replied  the  servant;  "dar's  de  old 
barn,  and  Mas'r  Wales  has  jest  built  a  new  one  " 

"Where  do  you  usually  put  the  horses  of 
clergymen  who  come  to  see  your  master?" 

"Well,  sah,  if  dey's  Methodist  or  Baptist  we 
gen 'ally  puts  'em  in  de  ole  barn,  but  if  dey's 
fPiscopals  we  puts  'em  in  the  new  one." 

"  Well,  Bob,  you  can  put  my  horse  in  the  new 
barn;  I'm  a  Baptist,  but  my  horse  is  an  Episco- 
palian." 

32 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 

THE  YANKEE  RECRUIT 

Mister  Buckinum,  the  follerin  Billet  was  writ 
hum  by  a  Yung  feller  of  our  town  that  wuz  cussed 
fool  enuff  to  goe  a-trottin  inter  Miss  Chiff  arter  a 
Drum  and  fife.  It  ain't  Nater  for  a  feller  to  let 
on  that  he's  sick  o'  any  bizness  that  he  went 
intu  off  his  own  fre3  will  and  a  Cord,  but  I  rather 
cal'late  he's  middlin  tired  o'  voluntearin  By  thib 
time.  I  bleeve  yu  may  put  dependunts  on  his 
statemence.  For  I  never  heered  nothin  bad  on 
him  let  Alone  his  havin  what  Parson  Wilbur 
cals  a  pongshong  for  cocktales,  and  ses  it  wuz 
a  soshiashun  of  idees  sot  him  ago  in  arter  the 
Crootin  Sargient  cos  he  wore  a  cocktale  onto 
his  hat. 

his  Folks  gin  the  letter  to  me  and  I  shew  it  to 
parson  Wilbur  and  he  ses  it  oughter  Bee  printed, 
send  It  to  mister  Buckinum,  ses  he,  i  don't  oilers 
agree  with  him,  ses  he,  but  by  Time,  ses  he,  I  d\i 
like  a  feller  that  ain't  a  Feared. 

I  have  intusspussed  a  Few  refleckshuns  hear 
and  thair.     We're  kind  o'  prest  with  Hayin. 
Lwers  respecfly, 

HOSEA    BlGLOW. 


88 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

This  kind  o'  sogerin'  aint  a  mite  like  our  October 

trainin', 
A  chap  could  clear  right  out  from  there  eft  only 

looked  like  rainin'. 
An'  th'  Cunnles,  tu,  could  kiver  up  their  shappoes 

with  bandanners, 
An'  sen'  the  insines  skootin'  to  the  barroom  with 

their  banners 
(Fear  o'  gittin'  on  'em  spotted) ,  an'  a  feller  could 

cry  quarter, 
Ef  he  fired  away  his  ramrod  artur  tu  much  rum 

an'  water. 
Recollect  wut   fun  we   lied,    you'n   I   on'    Ezry 

Hollis, 
Up  there  to  Waltham  plain  last  fall,  ahavin'  the 

Cornwallis  ? 
This  sort  o'  thing  aint  jest  like  thet — I  wished 

thet  I  wuz  furder — 
Nimepunce  a  day  fer  killin'  folks  comes  kind  o' 

low   for  murder 
(Wy    I've    worked    out    to    slarterin'    some    fer 

Deacon  Cephas  Biilins, 
An'  in  the  hardest  times  there  wuz  I  oilers  teched 

ten    shillins) , 
There's  sutthin'  gits  into  my  throat  thet  makes 

it  hard  to  swaller, 
It  comes  so  nateral  to  think  about  a  hempen 

collar ; 
It's  glory — but,  in  spite  o'  all  my  tryin'  to  git 

callous, 
I    feel    a    kind    o'    in    a    cart,    aridin'    to    the 

gallus. 

84 


The  Yankee  Recruit 

But  wen  it  comes  to  bein'  killed — I  tell  ye  I  felt 

streaked 
The  fust  time  ever  I  found  out  wy  baggonets  wuz 

peaked ; 
Here's  how  it  wuz:  I  started  out  to  go  to  a  fan- 
dango, 
The  sentinul  he  ups  an'  sez,  "Thet's  furder  'an 

you  can  go." 
"None  o'  your  sarse,"  sez  1;  sez  he,  "Stan'  back!" 

"Aint  you  a  buster?" 
Sez  I,  "I'm  up  to  all  thet  air,  I  guess  I've  ben  to 

muster ; 
I  know  wy  sentinuls  air  sot;  you  aint  agoin'  to 

eat  us; 
Caleb  haint   no  monopoly  to   court   the   sceno- 

reetas ; 
My  folks  to  hum  hir  full  ez  good  ez  hisn  be,  by 

golly!" 
An'  so  ez  I  wuz  goin'  by,  not  thinkin'  wut  would 

folly, 
The    everlastin'    cus    he     stuck    his    one-prong 

pitchfork  in  me 
An'  made  a  hole  right  thru  my  close  ez  ef  I  was 

an  in'my. 
Wal,  it  beats  all  how  big  I  felt  hoorawin'  in  old 

Funnel 
Wen  Mister  Bolles  he  gin  the  sword  to  our  Lef- 

tenant   Cunnle 
(It's  Mister  Secondary  Bolles,  thet  writ  the  prize 

peace  essay; 
Thet's  wy  he  didn't  list  himself  along  o'  us,  I 

d essay). 

85 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

An'  Rantoul,  tu,  talked  pooty  loud,  but  don't 

put  his  foot  in  it, 
Coz  human  life's  so  sacred  thet  he's  principled 

agin'    it — 
Though  I  myself  can't  rightly  see  it's  any  wus 

achokin'  on  'em 
Than  puttin'  bullets  thru  their  lights,  or  with  a 

bagnet   pokin'   on   'em; 
How  drefde  slick  he  reeled  it  off  (like  Blitz  at 

our  lyceam 
Ahaulin'   ribbins  from  his  chops  so  quick    you 

skeercely  see  'em), 
About  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  (an'  saxons    would 

be    handy 
To   du  the   buryin'    down   here   upon    the    Rio 

Grandy), 
About  our  patriotic  pas  an'  our  star-spangled 

banner, 
Our  country's   bird  alookin'    on    an'    singin'    out 

hosanner, 
An'  how  he   (Mister  B himself)  wuz  happy 

fer   Ameriky — 
I  felt,  ez  sister  Patience  sez,  a  leetle  mite  hister- 

icky. 
I  felt,  I  swon,  ez  though  it  wuz  a  dreffle  kind  o' 

privilege 
Atrampin'    round    thru    Boston    streets    among 

the  gutter's  drivelage; 
I  act'lly  thought  it  wuz  a  treat  to  hear  a  little 

drummin', 
An'    it    did    bonyfidy    seem     millanyum     wuz 

acomin'; 

86 


The  Yankee  Recruit 

Wen  all  on  us  gots  suits  (darned  like  them  wore 

in  the  slate  prison), 
An*  every  feller  felt  ez  though  all  Mexico  was 

hisn. 
This    'ere's   about   the   meanest   place   a   skunk 

could  wal  diskiver 
(Saltillo's    Mexican,    I    b'lieve,   fer  wut    we   call 

Salt  river). 
The  sort  o'  trash  a  feller  gits  to  eat  doos  beat 

all  nater, 
I'd  give  a  year's  pay  fer  a  smell  o'  one  good  blue- 
nose  tater ; 
The  country  here  thet  Mister  Bolles  declared  to 

be  so  charmin' 
Throughout  is  swarmin'  with  the  most  alarmin' 

kind  o'  varmin'. 
He  talked  about  delishes  froots,  but  then  it  was  a 

wopper  all, 
The  holl  on't  's  mud  an'  prickly  pears,  with  here 

an'  there  a  chapparal ; 
You  see  a  feller  peckin'  out,  an',  fust  you  know, 

a  lariat 
Is  round  your  throat  an'  you  a  copse,  'fore  you 

can  say,  "Wut  air  ye  at?" 
You  never  see  sech  darned  gret  bugs  (it  may  not 

be  irrelevant 
To  say  I've  seen  a  scarabsus  pilularius*  big  ez  a 

year  old  elephant), 

*it  wuz  "tumblebug"as  he  Writ  It  but  the  parson  put  the 
Latten  instid.     i  said  tother  maid  better  meeter,  but  he  said 
tha  was  eddykated  peepl  to  Boston  and  tha  wouldn't  stan'  it 
no  how,  idnow  as  tha  wood  and  idnow  05  tha  wood. — H.  B. 
87 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

The  rigiment  come  up   one  day  in  time  to  stop 

a  red  bug 
From   runnin'   off  with  Cunnle   Wright  — 'twuz 

jest   a   common   cimex  lectularius. 
One  night  I  started  up  on  eend  an  thought  I  wuz 

to  hum  agin, 
I  heern  a  horn,  thinks  I  it's  Sol  the  fisherman  hez 

come  agin, 
His  bellowses  is  sound  enough — ez  I'm  a  livin' 

creeter, 
I  felt  a  thing  go  thru  my  leg — 'twuz  nothin'  more 

'n  a  skeeter! 
Then  there's  the  yeller  fever,  tu,  they  call  it  here 

el  vomit o — 
(Come,  thet  wun't  du,  you  landcrab  there,  I  tell 

ye  to  le'  go  my  toe! 
My  gracious!  it's  a  scorpion  thet's  took  a  shine 

to  play  with  't, 
I  darsn't  skeer  the  tarnel  thing  fer  fear  he'd  run 

away  with  't). 
Afore  I  came  away  from  hum  I  hed  a  strong  per- 
suasion 
Thet  Mexicans  worn't  human  beans — an  ourang 

outang  nation, 
A  sort  o*  folks  a  chap  could  kill  an'  never  dream 

on't  arter, 
No  more'n  a  feller'd  dream  o'  pigs  thet  he  had 

hed  to  slarter; 
I'd  an  idee  thet  they  were  built  artcr  the  darkie 

fashion  all, 
And  kickin'  colored  folks  about,  you  know,  's  a 
kind  o'   national; 
88 


The  Yankee  Recruit 

But  wen  I  jined  I  won't  so  wise  ez  thet  air  queen 

o'  Sheby, 
Fer,  come  to  look  at  'em,  they  aint  much  diff'- 

rent  from  wut  we  be. 
An'  here  we  air  ascrougin'  'em  out  o'  thir  own 

dominions, 
Ashelterin'  'em,  ez  Caleb  sez,  under  our  eagle's 

pinions, 
Wich  means  to  take  a  feller  up  jest  by  the  slack 

o'  's  trowsis 
An'  walk  him  Spanish  clean  right  out  o'  all  his 

homes  and  houses; 
Wal,  it  does  seem  a  curus  way,  but  then  hooraw 

fer  Jackson! 
It  must  be  right,  fer  Caleb  sez  it's  reg'lar  Anglo- 
Saxon. 
The  Mex'cans  don't  fight  fair,  they  say,  they 

piz'n  all  the  water, 
An'  du  amazin'  lots  o'  things  thet  isn't  wut  they 

ough'  to; 
Bein'  they  haint  no  lead,  they  make  their  bullets 

out  o'  copper 
An'  shoot  the  darned  things  at  us,  tu,  wich  Caleb 

sez  ain't  proper; 
He  sez  they'd  ough'  to  stan'  right  up  an'  let  us 

pop  'em  fairly 
(Guess  wen  he  ketches  'em  at  thet  he'll  hev  to 

git  up  airly), 
Thet  our  nation's  bigger'n  theirn  an'  so  its  rights 

air  bigger, 
An'  thet  it's  all  to  make  'em  free  thet  we  air 

pullin'  trigger, 

89 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

Thet  Anglo-Saxondom's  idee's  abreakin'  'em  to 

pieces, 
An'  thet  idee's  thet  every  man  doos  jest  wut  he 

damn   pleases ; 
Ef  I  don't  make  his  meanin'  clear,  perhaps  in 

some  respex  I  can, 
I  know  thet  "every  man"  don't  mean  a  nigger 

or  a  Mexican; 
An'  there's  another  thing  I  know,  an'  thet  is,  ef 

these   creeturs, 
Thet    stick   an   Anglo-Saxon   mask   onto    State 

prison  feeturs, 
Should  come  to  Jalam  Center  fer  to  argify  an' 

spout  on  't, 
The  gals  'ould  count  the  silver  spoons  the  minnit 

thev  cleared  out  on  't. 


This  goin'  ware  glory  waits  ye  haint  one  agreeable 

feetur, 
And  ef  it  worn't  fer  wakin  'snakes,  I'd  home  agin 

short  meter; 
O,   wouldn't   I   be  off,   quick  time,   eft  worn't 

thet  I  wuz  sartin 
They'd  let  the  daylight  into  me  to  pay  me  fer 

desartin! 
I  don't  approve  o'  tellin'  tales,  but  jest  to  you  I 

may  state 
Our  ossifers  aint  wut  they  wuz  afore  they  left 

the  Bay  State; 
Then  it  wuz  "Mister  Sawin,  sir,  you're  midd'lin 

well   now.    oe    ye? 
90 


The  Yankee  Recruit 

Step  up  an'  take  a  nipper,  sir;  I'm  dreffle  glad  to 

see  ye"; 
But  now  it's,  "Ware's  my  eppylet?     Here,  Sawin 

step  an'  fetch  it! 
An'  mind  your  eye,  be  thund'rin  spry,  or  damn 

ye,    you  shall   ketch   it!" 
Wal,  ez  the  Doctor  sez,  some  pork  will  bile  so, 

but  by  mighty, 
Ef  I  hed  some  on  'em  to  hum,  I'd  give  'em  link- 

umvity, 
I'd  play  the  rogue's  march  on  their  hides  an' 

other  music  follerin' 

But  I  must  close  my  letter  here  for  one  on  'em 

's   a   hollerin', 
These    Anglosaxon   ossifers — wal,    taint   no   use 

a  jawin', 
I'm  safe  enlisted  fer  the  war, 
Yourn, 

BlRDOFREDOM    SaWIN. 


Two  dusky  small  boys  were  quarreling;  one 
was  pouring  forth  a  volume  of  vituperous  epi- 
thets, while  the  other  leaned  against  a  fence  and 
calmly  contemplated  him.  Wh?n  the  flow  of 
language  was  exhausted  he   said: 

"Are  you  troo?" 

"Yes." 

"You  ain't  got  nuffin'  more  to  say?" 

"No." 

"Well,  all  dem  tings  what  you  called  me, 
you  is." 

91 


CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER 

MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN 

SECOND    WEEK 

Next  to  deciding  when  to  start  your  garden, 
the  most  important  matter  is  what  to  put  in  it. 
It  is  difficult  to  decide  what  to  order  for  dinner 
on  a  given  day;  how  much  more  oppressive  is  it 
to  order  in  a  lump  an  endless  vista  of  dinners, 
so  to  speak!  For,  unless  your  garden  is  a 
boundless  prairie  (and  mine  seems  to  me  to 
be  that  when  I  hoe  it  on  hot  days),  you 
must  make  a  selection,  from  the  great  variety 
of  vegetables,  of  those  you  will  raise  in  it; 
and  you  feel  rather  bound  to  supply  your  own 
table  from  your  own  garden,  and  to  eat  only 
as  you  have  sown. 

I  hold  that  no  man  has  a  right  (whatever  his 
sex,  of  course)  to  have  a  garden  to  his  own  selfish 
uses.  He  ought  not  to  please  himself,  but  every 
man  to  please  his  neighbor.  I  tried  to  have  a 
garden  that  would  give  general  moral  satisfac- 
tion. It  seemed  to  me  that  nobody  could  objecl 
to  potatoes  (a  most  useful  vegetable) ;  and  I 
began  to  plant  them  freely.  But  there  was  a 
chorus  of  protest  against  them.  "You  don't 
want  to  take  up  your  ground  with  potatoes," 
the  neighbors  said;  "you  can  buy  potatoes" 
(the  very  thing  I  wanted  to  avoid  doing  is 
92 


My  Summer  in  a  Garden 

buying  things).  "What  you  want  is  the 
perishable  things  that  you  cannot  get  fresh  in 
the  market."  "But  what  kind  of  perish- 
able things?"  A  horticulturist  of  eminence 
wanted  me  to  sow  lines  of  strawberries  and 
raspberries  right  over  where  I  had  put  my 
potatoes  in  drills.  I  had  about  five  hundred 
strawberry  plants  in  another  part  of  my 
garden;  but  this  fruit-fanatic  wanted  me  to 
turn  my  whole  patch  into  vines  and  runners. 
I  suppose  I  could  raise  strawberries  enough  for 
all  my  neighbors;  and  perhaps  I  ought  to  do  it. 
I  had  a  little  space  prepared  for  melons  —  musk- 
melons,  which  I  showed  to  an  experienced  friend. 

'Yoix  are  not  going  to  waste  your  ground  on 
muskmelons?"  he  asked.  "They  rarely  ripen  in 
'his  climate  thoroughly  before  frost."  He  had 
tried  for  years  without  luck.  I  resolved  not  to 
go  into  such  a  foolish  experiment.  But  the  next 
day  another  neighbor  happened  in.  "Ah!  I 
see  you  are  going  to  have  melons.  My  family 
would  rather  give  up  anything  else  in  the  garden 
than  muskmelons — of  the  nutmeg  variety. 
They  are  the  most  graceful  things  we  have  on  the 
table."  So  there  it  was.  There  was  no  com- 
promise; it  was  melons  or  no  melons,  and  some- 
body offended  in  any  case.  I  have  resolved  to 
plant  them  a  little  late,  so  that  they  would,  and 
they  wouldn't.  But  I  had  the  same  difficulty 
about  string-beans  (which  I  detest),  and  squash 

(which  I  tolerate),  and  parsnips,  and  the  whole 
round  of  green  things. 

1)0 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

I  have  pretty  much  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  you  have  got  to  put  your  foot  down  in  gar- 
dening. If  I  had  actually  taken  counsel  of  my 
friends,  I  should  not  have  had  a  thing  growing 
in  the  garden  to-day  but  weeds.  And  besides, 
while  you  are  waiting,  Nature  does  not  wait. 
Her  mind  is  made  up.  She  knows  just  what  she 
will  raise;  and  she  has  an  infinite  variety  of 
early  and  late.  The  most  humiliating  thing  to 
me  about  a  garden  is  the  lesson  it  teaches  of  the 
inferiority  of  man.  Nature  is  prompt,  decided, 
inexhaustible.  She  thrusts  up  her  plants  with 
a  vigor  and  freedom  that  I  admire;  and  the 
more  worthless  the  plant,  the  more  rapid  and 
splendid  its  growth.  She  is  at  it  early  and  late, 
and  all  night;  never  tiring,  nor  showing  the  least 
sign  of  exhaustion. 

"Eternal  gardening  is  the  price  of  liberty"  is 
a  motto  that  I  should  put  over  the  gateway  of  my 
garden,  if  I  had  a  gate.  And  yet  it  is  not  wholly 
true;  for  there  is  no  liberty  in  gardening.  The 
man  who  undertakes  a  garden  is  relentlessly 
pursued.  He  felicitates  himself  that,  when  he 
gets  it  once  planted,  he  will  have  a  season  of  rest 
and  of  enjoyment  in  the  sprouting  and  growing 
of  his  seeds.  It  is  a  keen  anticipation.  He  has 
planted  a  seed  that  will  keep  him  awake  nights, 
drive  rest  from  his  bones,  and  sleep  from  his 
pillow.  Hardly  is  the  garden  planted,  when  he 
must  begin  to  hoe  it.  The  weeds  have  sprung 
up  all  over  it  in  a  night.  They  shine  and  wave 
in  redundant  life.  The  docks  have  almost  gone 
94 


My  Summer  in  a  Garden 

to  seed ;  and  their  roots  go  deeper  than  conscience. 
Talk  about  the  London  docks! — the  roots  of 
these  are  like  the  sources  of  the  Aryan  race. 
And  the  weeds  are  not  all.  I  awake  in  the  morn- 
ing (and  a  thriving  garden  will  wake  a  person  up 
two  hours  before  he  ought  to  be  out  of  bed)  and 
think  of  the  tomato-plants — the  leaves  like  fine 
lace-work,  owing  to  black  bugs  that  skip  around 
and  can't  be  caught.  Somebody  ought  to  get  up 
before  the  dew  is  off  (why  don't  the  dew  stay  on 
till  after  a  reasonable  breakfast?)  and  sprinkle 
soot  on  the  leaves.  I  wonder  if  it  is  I.  Soot  is 
so  much  blacker  than  the  bugs  that  they  are 
disgusted  and  go  away.  You  can't  get  up  too 
early  if  you  have  a  garden.  You  must  be  earlv 
due  yourself,  if  you  get  ahead  of  the  bugs,  i 
think  that,  on  the  whole,  it  would  be  best  to  sit 
up  all  night  and  sleep  daytimes.  Things  appear 
to  go  on  in  the  night  in  the  garden  uncommonly. 
It  would  be  less  trouble  to  stay  up  than  it  is  to 
get  up  so  early. 

I  have  been  setting  out  some  new  raspberries, 
two  sorts — a  silver  and  a  gold  color.  How  fine 
they  will  look  on  the  table  next  year  in  a  cut-glass 
dish,  the  cream  being  in  a  ditto  pitcher!  I  set 
them  four  and  five  feet  apart.  I  set  my  straw- 
berries pretty  well  apart  also.  The  reason  is  to 
give  room  for  the  cows  to  run  through  when  they 
break  into  the  garden — as  they  do  sometimes. 
A  cow  needs  a  broader  track  than  a  locomotive; 
and  she  generally  makes  one.  I  am  sometimes 
astonished  to  see  how  big  a  space  in  a  flower-bed 
95 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

her  foot  will  cover.  The  raspberries  are  called 
Doolittle  and  Golden  Cap.  I  don't  like  the  name 
of  the  first  variety,  and,  if  they  do  much,  shall 
change  it  to  Silver  Top.  You  can  never  tell  what 
a  thing  named  Doolittle  will  do.  The  one  in 
the  Senate  changed  color  and  got  sour.  They 
ripen  badly — either  mildew  or  rot  on  the  bush. 
They  are  apt  to  Johnsonize — rot  on  the  stem.  I 
shall  watch  the  Doolittles. 

FOURTH    WEEK 

Orthodoxy  is  at  a  low  ebb.  Only  two  clergy- 
men accepted  my  offer  to  come  and  help  hoe  my 
potatoes  for  the  privilege  of  using  my  vegetable 
total-depravity  figure  about  the  snake-grass,  or 
quack-grass,  as  some  call  it;  and  those  two  did 
not  bring  hoes.  There  seems  to  be  a  lack  of 
disposition  to  hoe  among  our  educated  clergy.  I 
am  bound  to  say  that  these  two,  however,  sat 
and  watched  my  vigorous  combats  with  the 
weeds,  and  talked  most  beautifully  about  the 
application  of  the  snake-grass  figure.  As,  for 
instance,  when  a  fault  or  sin  showed  on  the  sur- 
face of  a  man,  whether,  if  you  dug  down,  you 
would  find  that  it  ran  back  and  into  the  original 
organic  bunch  of  original  sin  within  the  man.  The 
only  other  clergyman  who  came  was  from  out  of 
town — a  half-Universalist,  who  said  he  wouldn't 
give  twenty  cents  for  my  figure.  He  said  that 
the  snake-grass  was  not  in  my  garden  originally, 
that  it  snaked  in  under  the  sod,  and  that  it 
could  be  entirely  rooted  out  with  industry  and 
9G 


My  Summer  in  a  Garden 

patience.  I  asked  the  Universalist-inclined 
man  to  take  my  hoe  and  try  it;  but  he  said  he 
hadn't  time,  and  went  away. 

But,  jubilate,  I  have  got  my  garden  all  hoed 
the  first  time!  I  feel  as  if  I  had  put  down  the 
rebellion.  Only  there  are  guerrillas  left  here  and 
there,  about  the  borders  and  in  corners,  unsub- 
dued— Forest  docks,  and  Quantrell  grass,  and 
Beauregard  pigweeds.  This  first  hoeing  is  a 
gigantic  task:  it  is  your  first  trial  of  strength 
with  the  never-sleeping  forces  of  Nature.  Several 
times  in  its  progress  I  was  tempted  to  do  as 
Adam  did,  who  abandoned  his  garden  on  account 
of  the  weeds.  (How  much  my  mind  seems  to 
run  upon  Adam,  as  if  there  had  been  only  two 
really  moral  gardens — Adam's  and  mine!)  The 
only  drawback  to  my  rejoicing  over  the  finishing 
of  the  first  hoeing  is,  that  the  garden  now  wants 
hoeing  a  second  time.  I  suppose  if  my  garden 
were  planted  in  a  perfect  circle,  and  I  started 
round  it  with  a  hoe,  I  should  never  see  an  oppor- 
tunity to  rest.  The  fact  is,  that  gardening  is  the 
old  fable  of  perpetual  labor;  and  I,  for  one,  can 
never  forgive  Adam  Sisyphus,  or  whoever  it  was. 
who  let  in  the  roots  of  discord.  I  had  pictured 
myself  sitting  at  eve  with  my  family,  in  the 
shade  of  twilight,  contemplating  a  garden  hoed. 
Alas!  it  is  a  dream  not  to  be  realized  in  this 
world. 

My  mind  has  been  turned  to  the  subject  of  fruit 
and  shade  trees  in  a  garden.     There  are  those 
who  say  that  trees  shade  the  garden  too  much 
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Masterpieces  of  Humor 

and  interfere  with  the  growth  of  the  vegetables. 
There  may  be  something  in  this;  but  when  I  go 
down  the  potato  rows,  the  rays  of  the  sun  glanc- 
ing upon  my  shining  blade,  the  sweat  pouring 
from  my  face,  I  should  be  grateful  for  shade. 
What  is  a  garden  for?  The  pleasure  of  man. 
I  should  take  much  more  pleasure  in  a  shady 
garden.  Am  I  to  be  sacrificed,  broiled,  roasted, 
for  the  sake  of  the  increased  vigor  of  a  few 
vegetables?  The  thing  is  perfectly  absurd.  If 
I  were  rich,  I  think  I  would  have  my  garden 
covered  with  an  awning,  so  that  it  would  be 
Ceinfortable  to  work  in  it.  It  might  roll  up  and 
be  removable,  as  the  great  awning  of  the  Roman 
Colosseum  was — not  like  the  Boston  one,  which 
went  off  in  a  high  wind.  Another  very  good  way 
to  do,  and  probably  not  so  expensive  as  the 
awning,  would  be  to  have  four  persons  of  foreign 
birth  carry  a  sort  of  canopy  over  you  as  you  hoed. 
And  there  might  be  a  person  at  each  end  of  the 
row  with  some  cool  and  refreshing  drink.  Agri- 
culture is  still  in  a  very  barbarous  stage.  I  hope 
to  live  yet  to  see  the  day  when  I  can  do  my 
gardening,  as  tragedy  is  done,  to  slow  and  sooth- 
ing music,  and  attended  by  some  of  the  comforts 
I  have  named.  These  things  come  so  forcibly 
into  my  mind  sometimes  as  I  work,  that  perhaps, 
when  a  wandering  breeze  lifts  my  straw  hat  or  a 
bird  lights  on  a  near  currant-bush  and  shakes 
out  a  full-throated  summer  song,  I  almost  expect 
to  find  the  cooling  drink  and  the  hospitable  enter- 
tainment at  the  end  of  the  row.     But  I  never  do. 


My  Summer  in  a  Garden 

There  is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  turn  round 
and  hoe  back  to  the  other  end. 

Speaking  of  those  yellow  squash-bugs,  I  think 
I  disheartened  them,  by  covering  the  plants  so 
deep  with  soot  and  wood-ashes  that  they  could 
not  find  them;  and  I  am  in  doubt  if  I  shall  ever 
see  the  plants  again.  But  I  have  heard  of 
another  defense  against  the  bugs.  Put  a  fine 
wire  screen  over  each  hill,  which  will  keep  out 
the  bugs  and  admit  the  ~  -;i.  I  should  say  that 
these  screens  would  noc  cost  much  more  than 
the  melons  you  would  be  likely  to  get  from  the 
vines  if  you  bought  them;  but  then,  think  of  the 
moral  satisfaction  of  watching  the  bugs  hover- 
ing over  the  screen,  seeing  but  unable  to 
reach  the  tender  plants  within.  That  is  worth 
paying  for. 

I  left  my  own  garden  yesterday  and  went  over 
to  where  Polly  was  getting  the  weeds  out  of  one 
of  her  flower-beds.  She  was  working  away  at 
the  bed  with  a  little  hoe.  Whether  women 
ought  to  have  the  ballot  or  not  (and  I  have  a 
decided  opinion  on  that  point,  which  I  should 
here  plainly  give  did  I  not  fear  that  it  would 
injure  my  agricultural  influence),  I  am  com- 
pelled to  say  that  this  was  rather  helpless  hoeing. 
It  was  patient,  conscientious,  even  pathetic 
hoeing;  but  it  was  neither  effective  nor  finished. 
When  completed,  the  bed  looked  somewhat  as  if 
a  hen  had  scratched  it ;  there  was  that  touching 
unevenness  about  it.  I  think  no  one  could  look 
at  it  and  not  be  affected.  To  be  sure,  Polly 
09 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

smoothed  it  off  with  a  rake  and  asked  me  if  it 
wasn't  nice;  and  I  said  it  was.  It  was  not  a 
favorable  time  for  me  to  explain  the  difference 
between  puttering  hoeing  and  the  broad,  free 
sweep  of  the  instrument  which  kills  the  weeds, 
spares  the  plants,  and  loosens  the  soil  without 
leaving  it  in  holes  and  hills.  But,  after  all,  as 
life  is  constituted,  I  think  more  of  Polly's  honest 
and  anxious  care  of  her  plants  than  of  the  most 
finished  gardening  in  the  world. 

SIXTH    WEEK 

Somebody  has  sent  me  a  new  sort  of  hoe,  with 
the  wish  that  I  should  speak  favorably  of  it 
if  I  can  consistently.  I  willingly  do  so,  but  with 
the  understanding  that  I  am  to  be  at  liberty  to 
speak  just  as  courteously  of  any  other  hoe  which 
I  may  receive.  If  I  understand  religious  morals, 
this  is  the  position  of  the  religious  press  with 
regards  to  bitters  and  wringing  machines.  In 
some  cases,  the  responsibility  of  such  a  recom- 
mendation is  shifted  upon  the  wife  of  the  editor 
or  clergyman.  Polly  says  she  is  entirely  willing 
to  make  a  certificate,  accompanied  with  an 
affidavit,  with  regard  to  this  hoe;  but  her  habit 
of  sitting  about  the  garden  walk  on  an  inverted 
flower-pot  while  I  hoe  somewhat  destroys  the 
practical  value  of  her  testimony. 

As  to  this  hoe,  I  do  not  mind  saying  that  it  has 

changed  my  view  of  the  desirableness  and  value 

of  human  life.     It  has,  in  fact,  made  life  a  holiday 

to  me.     It  is  made  on  the  principle  that  man  is 

100 


My  Summer  in  a  Garden 

an  upright,  sensible,  reasonable  being,  and  not  a 
groveling  wretch.  It  does  away  with  the 
necessity  of  the  hinge  in  the  back.  The  handle 
is  seven  and  a  half  feet  long.  There  are  two 
narrow  blades,  sharp  on  both  edges,  which  come 
together  at  an  obtuse  angle  in  front;  and  as 
you  walk  along  with  this  hoe  before  you,  pushing 
and  pulling  with  a  gentle  motion,  the  weeds  fall 
at  every  thrust  and  withdrawal,  and  the  slaughter 
is  immediate  and  widespread.  When  I  got  this 
hoe,  I  was  troubled  with  sleepless  mornings, 
pains  in  the  back,  kleptomania  with  regard  to 
new  weeders;  when  I  went  into  my  garden  I  was 
always  sure  to  see  something.  In  this  dis- 
ordered state  of  mind  and  body  I  got  this  hoe. 
The  morning  after  a  day  of  using  it  I  slept  per- 
fectly and  late.  I  regained  my  respect  for  the 
Eighth  Commandment.  After  two  doses  of  the 
hoe  in  the  garden  the  weeds  entirely  disappeared. 
Trying  it  a  third  morning,  I  was  obliged  to  throw 
it  over  the  fence  in  order  to  save  from  destruc- 
tion the  green  things  that  ought  to  grow  in  the 
garden.  Of  course,  this  is  figurative  language. 
What  I  mean  is,  that  the  fascination  of  usin£ 
this  hoe  is  such  that  you  are  sorely  tempted  to 
employ  it  upon  your  vegetables  after  the  weeds 
are  laid  low,  and  must  hastily  withdraw  it  to 
avoid  unpleasant  results.  I  make  this  explana- 
tion because  I  intend  to  put  nothing  into  these 
agricultural  papers  that  will  not  bear  the  strictest 
scientific  investigation;  nothing  that  the  young- 
est child  cannot  understand  and  cry  for ;  nothing 
101 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

that  the  oldest  and  wisest  men  will  not  need  to 
study  with  care. 

I  need  not  add  that  the  care  of  a  garden  with 
this  hoe  becomes  the  merest  pastime.  I  would 
not  be  without  one  for  a  single  night.  The  only 
danger  is,  that  you  may  rather  make  an  idol  of 
the  hoe,  and  somewhat  neglect  your  garden  in 
explaining  it  and  fooling  about  with  it.  I 
almost  think  that,  with  one  of  these  in  the 
hands  of  an  ordinary  day-laborer,  you  might  see 
at  night  where  he  had  been  working. 

Let  us  have  peas.  I  have  been  a  zealous 
advocate  of  the  birds.  I  have  rejoiced  in  their 
multiplication.  I  have  endured  their  concerts 
at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  without  a  murmur. 
Let  them  come,  I  said,  and  eat  the  worms,  in 
order  that  we,  later,  may  enjoy  the  foliage  and 
the  fruits  of  the  earth.  We  have  a  cat,  a  mag- 
nificent animal,  of  the  sex  which  votes  (but  not  a 
pole-cat) — so  large  and  powerful  that  if  he  were 
in  the  army  he  would  be  called  Long  Tom.  He 
is  a  cat  of  fine  disposition,  the  most  irreproach- 
able morals  I  ever  saw  thrown  away  in  a  cat.  and 
a  splendid  hunter.  He  spends  his  nights,  not  in 
social  dissipation,  but  in  gathering  in  rats,  mice, 
flying-squirrels,  and  also  birds.  When  he  first 
brought  me  a  bird.  I  told  him  that  it  was  wrong, 
and  tried  to  convince  him,  while  he  was  eating  it, 
that  he  was  doing  wrong;  for  he  is  a  reason- 
able cat,  and  understands  pretty  much  every- 
thing except  the  binomial  theorem  and  the  time 
down  the  cycloidal  arc.  But  with  no  effect. 
102 


My  Summer  in  a  Garden 

The  killing  of  birds  went  on  to  my  great  regret 
and  shame. 

The  other  day  I  went  to  my  garden  to  get  a 
mess  of  peas.  I  had  seen  the  day  before  that 
they  were  just  ready  to  pick.  How  I  had  lined 
the  ground,  planted,  hoed,  bushed  them!  The 
bushes  were  very  fine — seven  feet  high,  and  of 
good  wood.  How  I  had  delighted  in  the  growing, 
the  blowing,  the  podding!  What  a  touching 
thought  it  was  that  they  had  all  podded  for  me  I 
When  I  went  to  pick  them  I  found  the  pods  all 
split  open  and  the  peas  gone.  The  dear  little 
birds,  who  are  so  fond  of  the  strawberries,  had 
eaten  them  all.  Perhaps  there  were  left  as 
many  as  I  planted;  I  did  not  count  them.  I 
made  a  rapid  estimate  of  the  cost  of  the  seed,  the 
interest  of  the  ground,  the  price  of  labor,  the 
value  of  the  bushes,  the  anxiety  of  weeks  of 
watchfulness.  I  looked  about  me  on  the  face  of 
nature.  The  wind  blew  from  the  south  so  soft 
and  treacherous!  A  thrush  sang  in  the  woods 
so  deceitfully!  All  nature  seemed  fair.  But 
who  was  to  give  me  back  my  peas?  The  fowls 
of  the  air  have  peas;  but  what  has  man? 

I  went  into  the  house.  I  called  Calvin  (that 
is  the  name  of  our  cat,  given  him  on  account  of 
his  gravity,  morality,  and  uprightness.  We 
never  familiarly  call  him  John).  I  petted 
Calvin.  I  lavished  upon  him  an  enthusiastic 
fondness.  I  told  him  that  he  had  no  fault;  that 
the  one  action  that  I  had  called  a  vice  was  an 
heroic  exhibition  of  regard  for  my  interest.  I 
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Masterpieces  of  Humor 

bade  him  go  and  do  likewise  continually.  I  now 
saw  how  much  better  instinct  is  than  mere 
unguided  reason.  Calvin  knew.  If  he  had  put 
his  opinion  into  English  (instead  of  his  native 
catalogue),  it  would  have  been,  "You  need  not 
teach  your  grandmother  to  suck  eggs."  It  was 
only  the  round  of  nature.  The  worms  eat  a 
noxious  something  in  the  ground.  The  birds 
eat  the  worms.  Calvin  eats  the  birds.  We  eat 
— no,  we  do  not  eat  Calvin.  There  the  chain 
stops.  When  you  ascend  the  scale  of  being,  and 
come  to  an  animal  that  is,  like  ourselves,  inedible, 
you  have  arrived  at  a  result  where  you  can 
rest.  Let  us  respect  the  cat:  he  completes 
an  edible  chain. 

I  have  little  heart  to  discuss  methods  of  raising 
peas.  It  occurs  to  me  that  I  can  "have  an  iron 
pea-bush,  a  sort  of  trellis,  through  which  I  could 
discharge  electricity  at  frequent  intervals  and 
electrify  the  birds  to  death  when  they  alight; 
for  they  stand  upon  my  beautiful  bush  in  order 
to  pick  out  the  peas.  An  apparatus  of  this  kind, 
with  an  operator,  would  cost,  however,  about  as 
much  as  the  peas.  A  neighbor  suggests  that  I 
might  put  up  a  scarecrow  near  the  vines,  which 
would  keep  the  birds  away.  I  am  doubtful 
about  it;  the  birds  are  too  much  accustomed  to 
seeing  a  person  in  poor  clothes  in  the  garden  to 
care  much  for  that.  Another  neighbor  suggests 
that  the  birds  do  not  open  the  pods;  that  a  sort 
of  blast,  apt  to  come  after  rain,  cplits  the  pods, 
and  the  birds  then  eat  the  peas.  It  may  be  so 
104 


My  Summer  in  a  Garden 

There  seems  to  be  complete  unity  of  action 
between  the  blast  and  the  birds.  But  good 
neighbors,  kind  friends,  I  desire  that  you  will 
not  increase,  by  talk,  a  disappointment  which 
you  cannot  assuage. 


CROWDED 

Chauncey  Depew  says:  In  the  Berkshire 
Hills  there  was  a  funeral,  and  as  the  friends  and 
mourners  gathered  in  the  little  parlor,  there 
came  the  typical  New  England  female  who 
mingles  curiosity  with  her  sympathy,  and,  as 
she  glanced  around  the  darkened  room,  she  said 
to  the  bereaved  widow: 

"Where  did  you  get  that  new  eight-day 
clock?" 

"We  ain't  got  no  new  eight-day  clock,"  was 
the  reply. 

"You  ain't?  What's  that  in  the  corner 
there  ? ' ' 

"Why,  no,  that's  not  an  eight-day  clock;  that's 
the  deceased.  We  stood  him  on  end  to  make 
room  for  the  mourners." 

A  young  wife  who  lost  her  husband  by  death 
telegraphed  the  sad  tidings  to  her  father  in  these 
succinct  words:  "Dear  John  died  this  morning 
at  ten.     Loss  fully  covered  by  insurance." 


105 


THE  ALARMED  SKIPPER 

"It  was  an  Ancient  Mariner" 

Many  a  long,  long  year  ago, 

Nantucket  skippers  had  a  plan 

Of  finding  out,  though  "lying  low," 

How  near  New  York  their  schooners  ran. 

They  greased  the  lead  before  it  fell, 
And  then,  by  sounding  through  the  night, 
Knowing  the  soil  that  stuck,  so  well, 
They  always  guessed  their  reckoning  right. 

A  skipper  gray,  whose  eyes  were  dim, 
Could  tell,  by  tasting,  just  the  spot, 
And  so  below  he'd  "dowse  the  glinr ! — 
After,  of  course,  his  "something  hot." 

Snug  in  his  berth, .at  eight  o'clock, 
This  ancient  skipper  might   be  found; 
No  matter  how  his  craft  would  rock, 
He  slept — for  skippers'  naps  are  sound! 

The  watch  on  deck  would  now  and  then 
Run  down  and  wake  him,  with  the  lead; 
He'd  up,  and  taste,  and  tell  the  men 
How  many  miles  they  went  ahead. 
106 


The  Alarmed  Skipper 

One  night,   'twas  Jotham  Marden's  watch, 
A  curious  wag — the  peddler's  son — 
And  so  he  mused  (the  wanton  wretch), 
"To-night  I'll  have  a  grain  of  fun. 

"We're  all  a  set  of  stupid  fools 
To  think  the  skipper  knows  by  tasting 
What  ground  he's  on — Nantucket  schools 
Don't  teach  such  stuff,  with  all  their  bastingl" 

And  so  he  took  the  well-greased  lead 
And  rubbed  it  o'er  a  box  of  earth 
That  stood  on  deck — a  parsnip-bed — 
And  then  he  sought  the  skipper's  berth. 

"Where  are  we  now,  sir?     Please  to  taste." 
The  skipper  yawned,  put  out  his  tongue, 
Then  ope'd  his  eyes  in  wondrous  haste, 
And  then  upon  the  floor  he  sprung! 

The  skipper  stormed  and  tore  his  hair, 
Thrust  on  his  boots,  and  roared  to  Marden, 
"Nantucket's  sunk,   and  here  we  are 
Right  over  old  Marm  Hackett's  garden!" 

James  T.  Fields. 


THE  WEDDING   JOURNEY 

He:     "Dearest,   if   I   had   known   this    tunnel 
was  so  long,  I'd  have  given  you  a  jolly  hug." 
She:     "Didn't  you?     Why,  somebody  did!  " 
107 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

FOREIGN  CORRESPONDENCE 

Do  I  think  that  the  particular  form  of  lying 
often  seen  in  newspapers  under  the  title,  "From 
Our  Foreign  Correspondent,"  does  any  harmV 
Why,  no,  I  don't  know  that  it  does.  I  suppose  it 
doesn't  really  deceive  people  any  more  than  the 
"Arabian  Nights"  or  "Gulliver's  Travels"  do. 
Sometimes  the  writers  compile  too  carelessly, 
though,  and  mix  up  facts  out  of  geographies  and 
stories  out  of  the  penny  papers,  so  as  to  mislead 
those  who  are  desirous  of  information.  I  cut  a 
piece  out  of  one  of  the  papers  the  other  day 
which  contains  a  number  of  improbabilities  and, 
I  suspect,  misstatements.  I  will  send  up  and 
get  it  for  you,  if  you  would  like  to  hear  it.  Ah, 
this   is   it;  it    is   headed: 

"OUR    SUMATRA     CORRESPONDENCE 

"This  island  is  now  the  property  of  the  Stam- 
ford family — having  been  won,  it  is  said,  in  a 
raffle  by  Sir Stamford,  during  the  stock- 
gambling  mania  of  the  South  Sea  scheme.  The 
history  of  this  gentleman  may  be  found  in  an 
interesting  series  of  questions  (unfortunately  not 
yet  answered)  contained  in  the  'Notes  and 
Queries.'  This  island  is  entirely  surrounded  by 
108 


Foreign  Correspondence 

the  ocean,  which  here  contains  a  large  amount  of 
saline  substance,  crystallizing  in  cubes  remark- 
able for  their  symmetry,  and  frequently  displays 
on  its  surface,  during  calm  weather,  the  rainbow 
tints  of  the  celebrated  South  Sea  bubbles.  The 
summers  are  oppressively  hot,  and  the  winters 
very  probably  cold;  but  this  fact  cannot  be 
ascertained  precisely,  as,  for  some  peculiar  reason 
the  mercury  in  these  latitudes  never  shrinks,  as 
in  more  northern  regions,  and  thus  the  ther- 
mometer is  rendered  useless  in  winter. 

"The  principal  vegetable  productions  of  the 
island  are  the  pepper  tree  and  the  bread-fruit 
tree.  Pepper  being  very  abundantly  produced, 
a  benevolent  society  was  organized  in  London 
during  the  last  century  for  supplying  the 
natives  with  vinegar  and  oysters,  as  an  addition 
to  that  delightful  condiment.  (Note  received 
from  Dr.  D.  P.)  It  is  said,  however,  that,  as  the 
oysters  were  of  the  kind  called  natives  in  England, 
the  natives  of  Sumatra,  in  obedience  to  a  natural 
instinct,  refused  to  touch  them,  and  confined 
themselves  entirely  to  the  crew  of  the  vessel  in 
which  they  were  brought  over.  This  information 
was  received  from  one  of  the  oldest  inhabitants, 
o.  native  himself,  and  exceedingly  fond  of  mis- 
sionaries. He  is  said  also  to  be  very  skilful  in 
the  cuisine  peculiar  to  the  island. 

"During    the    season    of    gathering    pepper, 

the    persons   employed    are   subject   to    various 

Incommodities,  the  chief  of  which  is  violent  and 

long-continued  sternutation,  or  sneezing.     Such 

109 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

Is  the  vehemence  of  these  attacks  that  the  unfor- 
tunate subjects  of  them  are  often  driven  back- 
ward for  great  distances  at  immense  speed,  on 
the  well-known  principle  of  the  asolipile.  Not 
being  able  to  see  where  they  are  going,  these  poor 
creatures  dash  themselves  to  pieces  against  the 
rocks,  or  are  precipitated  over  the  cliffs,  and 
thus  many  valuable  lives  are  lost  annually.  As 
during  the  whole  pepper  harvest  they  feed 
exclusively  on  this  stimulant,  they  become 
exceedingly  irritable.  The  smallest  injury  is 
resented  with  ungovernable  rage.  A  young 
man  suffering  from  the  peppcr-fcver,  as  it  is 
called,  cudgeled  another  most  severely  for 
appropriating  a  superannuated  relative  of 
trifling  value,  and  was  only  pacified  by  having  a 
present  made  him  of  a  pig  of  that  peculiar  species 
of  swine  called  the  Peccavi  by  the  Catholic  Jews, 
who,  it  is  well  known,  abstain  from  swine's  flesh 
in  imitation  of  the  Mohammedan  Buddhists. 

"The  bread  tree  grows  abundantly.  Its 
branches  are  well  known  to  Europe  and  America 
under  the  familiar  name  of  maccaroni.  The 
smaller  twigs  are  called  vermicelli.  They  have 
decided  animal  flavor,  as  may  be  observed  in 
the  soups  containing  them.  Maccaroni,  being 
tubular,  is  the  favorite  habitat  of  a  very  danger- 
ous insect,  which  is  rendered  peculiarly  ferocious 
by  being  boiled.  The  government  of  the  island, 
therefore,  never  allows  a  stick  of  it  to  be  exported 
without  being  accompanied  by  a  piston  with 
which  its  cavity  may  at  any  time  be  thoroughly 
110 


Music-Pounding 

swept  out.  These  are  commonly  lost  or  stolen 
before  the  maccaroni  arrives  among  us.  It, 
therefore,  always  contains  many  of  these  insects, 
which,  however,  generally  die  of  old  age  in  the 
shops,  so  that  accidents  from  this  source  are 
comparatively  rare. 

"The  fruit  of  the  bread  tree  consists  princi- 
pally of  hot  rolls.  The  buttered-muffin  variety 
is  supposed  to  be  a  hybrid  with  the  cocoanut 
palm,  the  cream  found  on  the  milk  of  the  cocoa- 
nut  exuding  from  the  hybrid  in  the  shape  of 
butter,  just  as  the  ripe  fruit  is  splitting,  so  as  to 
fit  it  for  the  tea-table,  where  it  is  commonly 
served  up  with  cold " 

There — I  don't  want  to  read  any  more  of  it. 
You  see  that  many  of  these  statements  are 
highly  improbable.  No,  I  shall  not  mention  the 
paper. — The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table. 

MUSIC-POUNDING 

The  old  Master  was  talking  about  a  concert  he 
had  been  to  hear. 

— I  don't  like  your  chopped  music  anyway 
That  woman — she  had  more  sense  in  her  little 
finger  than  forty  medical  societies — Florence 
Nightingale — says  that  the  music  you  pour  out 
is  good  for  sick  folks,  and  the  music  you  pound 
out  isn't.  Not  that  exactly,  but  something  like 
it.  I  have  been  to  hear  some  music-pounding. 
It  was  a  young  woman,  with  as  many  white 
muslin  flounces  round  her  as  the  planet  Saturn 
has  rings,  that  did  it.  She  gave  the  music-stool 
111 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

a  twirl  or  two  and  fluffed  down  on  to  it  like  a 
whirl  of  soap-suds  in  a  hand-basin.  Then  she 
pushed  up  her  cuffs  as  if  she  was  going  to  fight 
for  the  champion's  belt.  Then  she  worked 
her  wrists  and  her  hands  to  limber  'em,  I  suppose, 
and  spread  out  her  fingers  till  they  looked  as 
though  they  would  pretty  much  cover  the  key- 
board, from  the  growling  end  to  the  little  squeaky 
one.  Then  those  two  hands  of  hers  made  a 
jump  at  the  keys  as  if  they  were  a  couple  of  tigers 
coming  down  on  a  flock  of  black-and-white  sheep, 
and  the  piano  gave  a  great  howl  as  if  its  tail  had 
been  trod  on.  Dead  stop — so  still  you  could 
hear  your  hair  growing.  Then  another  jump, 
and  another  howl,  as  if  the  piano  had  two  tails 
and  you  had  trod  on  both  of  'em  at  once,  and 
then  a  grand  clatter  and  scramble  and  string  of 
jumps,  up  and  down,  back  and  forward,  one 
hand  over  the  other,  like  a  stampede  of  rats  and 
mice  more  than  like  anything  I  call  music.  I 
like  to  hear  a  woman  sing,  and  I  like  to  hear  a 
fiddle  sing,  but  these  noises  they  hammer  out  of 
their  wood-and-ivory  anvils — don't  talk  to  me; 
I  know  the  difference  between  a  bullfrog  and  a 
wood-thrush. — The  Poet  at  the  Breakfast  Table. 


"That  is  rather  a  shabby  pair  of  trousers  you 
have  on,  for  a  man  in  your  position/' 

"Yes,  sir;  but  clothes  do  not  make  the  man. 
What    if   my   trousers   are    shabby    and    worn? 
They  cover  a  warm  heart,  sir." 
112 


FREDERICK  S.  COZZENS 

LIVING  IN  THE  COUNTRY 

IT  is  a  good  thing  to  live  in  the  county.  To 
escape  from  the  prison  walls  of  the  metropolis  — 
the  great  brickery  we  call  "the  city" — and  to 
live  amid  blossoms  and  leaves,  in  shadow  and 
sunshine,  in  moonlight  and  starlight,  in  rain, 
mist,  dew,  hoarfrost,  and  drought,  out  in  the 
open  campaign  and  under  the  blue  dome  that  is 
bounded  by  the  horizon  only.  It  is  a  good  thing 
to  have  a  well  with  dripping  buckets,  a  porch 
with  honey- buds  and  sweet-bells,  a  hive  embroid- 
ered with  nimble  bees,  a  sun-dial  mossed  over, 
ivy  up  to  the  eaves,  curtains  of  dimity,  a  tumbler 
of  fresh  flowers  in  your  bedroom,  a  rooster  on 
the  roof,  and  a  dog  under  the  piazza. 

When  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  and  I  moved  into  the 
country,  with  our  heads  full  of  fresh  butter,  and 
cool,  crisp  radishes  for  tea;  with  ideas  entirely 
lucid  respecting  milk,  and  a  looseness  of  calcula- 
tion as  to  the  number  in  family  it  would  take  a 
good  laying  hen  to  supply  with  fresh  eggs  every 
morning;  when  Mrs  Sparrowgrass  and  I  moved 
into  the  country,  we  found  some  preconceived 
notions  had  to  be  abandoned,  and  some  depar- 
tures made  from  the  plans  we  had  laid  down  in 
the  little  back  parlor  of  Avenue  G. 
U3 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

One  of  the  first  achievements  in  the  country  is 
early  rising!  with  the  lark — with  the  sun — while 
the  dew  is  on  the  grass,  "under  the  opening  eye- 
lids of  the  norn,"  and  so  forth.  Early  rising! 
What  can  be  aone  with  five  or  six  o'clock  in  town? 
What  may  not  be  done  at  those  hours  in  the 
country?  With  the  hoe,  the  rake,  the  dibble, 
the  spade,  the  watering-pot?  To  plant,  prune, 
drill,  transplant,  graft,  train,  and  sprinkle! 
Mrs.  S.  and  I  agreed  to  rise  early  in  the  country. 

Richard  and  Robin  were  two  pretty  men. 
They  laid  in  bed  till  the  clock  struck  ten: 
Up  jumped   Richard  and  looked  at  the   sky; 
O,    Brother  Robin,   the  suns  very  highl 

Early  rising  in  the  country  is  not  an  instinct;  it 
is  a  sentiment,  and  must  be  cultivated. 

A  friend  recommended  me  to  send  to  the  south 
side  of  Long  Island  for  some  very  prolific  potatoes 
— the  real  hippopotamus  breed.  Down  went  my 
man,  and  what,  with  expenses  of  horse-hire, 
tavern  bills,  toll-gates,  and  breaking  a  wagon, 
the  hippopotami  cost  as  much  apiece  as  pine- 
apples. They  were  fine  potatoes,  though,  with 
comely  features,  and  large,  languishing  eyes, 
that  promised  increase  of  family  without  delay. 
As  I  worked  my  own  garden  (for  which  I  hired  a 
landscape  gardener  at  two  dollars  per  day  to 
give  me  instructions),  I  concluded  that  the  object 
of  my  first  experiment  in  early  rising  should  be 
the  planting  of  the  hippopotamuses.  I  accord- 
ingly arose  next  morning  at  five,  and  it  rained! 
I  rose  next  day  at  five,  and  it  rained!  The  nex/ 
114 


Living  in  the  Country 

and  it  rained!  It  rained  for  two  weeks!  We 
had  splendid  potatoes  every  day  for  dinner. 
"My  dear,"  said  I  to  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "where 
did  you  get  these  fine  potatoes?"  "Why," 
said  she,  innocently,  "out  of  that  basket  from 
Long  Island!"  The  last  of  the  hippopota- 
muses were  before  me,  peeled,  and  boiled,  and 
mashed,  and  baked,  with  a  nice  thin  brown 
crust  on  the  top. 

I  was  more  successful  afterward.  I  did  get 
some  fine  seed-potatoes  in  the  ground.  But 
something  was  the  matter;  at  the  end  of  the 
season  I  did  not  get  as  many  out  as  I  had  put  in. 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  who  is  a  notable  housewife, 
said  to  me  one  day,  "Now,  my  dear,  we  shall 
soon  have  plenty  of  eggs,  for  I  have  been  buying 
n  lot  of  young  chickens."  There  they  were, 
each  one  with  as  many  feathers  as  a  grasshopper, 
and  a  chirp  not  louder.  Of  course,  we  looked 
forward  with  pleasant  hopes  to  the  period  when 
the  first  cackle  should  announce  the  milk-white 
egg,  warmly  deposited  in  the  hay  which  we  had 
provided  bountifully.  They  grew  finely,  and 
one  day  I  ventured  to  remark  that  our  hens 
had  remarkably  large  combs,  to  which  Mrs.  S. 
replied,  "Yes,  indeed,  she  had  observed  that; 
but  if  I  wanted  to  have  a  real  treat  I  ought  to  get 
up  early  in  the  morning  and  hear  them  crow." 
"Crow!"  said  I,  faintly,  "our  hens  crowing! 
Then,  by  'the  cock  that  crowed  in  *he  morn,  to 
wake  the  priest  all  shaven  and  shorn,'  we  might 
as  well  give  up  all  hopes  of  having  any  eggs," 
115 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

said  I;  "for  as  sure  as  you  live,  Mrs.  S.,  our 
hens  are  all  roosters!  "  And  so  they  were  roosters! 
They  grew  up  and  fought  with  the  neighbors' 
chickens,  until  there  was  not  a  whole  pair  of  eyes 
on  either  side  of  the  fence. 

A  dog  is  a  good  thing  to  have  in  the  country.  I 
have  one  which  I  raised  from  a  pup.  He  is  a 
good,  stout  fellow,  and  a  hearty  barker  and 
feeder.  The  man  of  whom  I  bought  him  said 
he  was  thoroughbred,  but  he  begins  to  have  a 
mongrel  look  about  him.  He  is  a  good  watch- 
dog, though;  for  the  moment  he  sees  any  sus- 
picious-looking person  about  the  premises  he 
comes  right  into  the  kitchen  and  gets  behind  the 
stove.  First,  we  kept  him  in  the  house,  and  he 
scratched  all  night  to  get  out.  Then  we  turned 
him  out,  and  he  scratched  all  night  to  get  in. 
Then  we  tied  him  up  at  the  back  of  the  garden, 
and  he  howled  so  that  our  neighbor  shot  at  him 
twice  before  daybreak..  Finally  we  gave  him 
away,  and  he  came  back;  and  now  he  is  just 
recovering  from  a  fit,  in  which  he  has  torn  up  the 
patch  that  has  been  sown  for  our  spring  radishes. 

A  good,  strong  gate  is  a  necessary  article  for 
your  garden.  A  good,  strong,  heavy  gate,  with  a 
dislocated  hinge,  so  that  it  will  neither  open  nor 
shut.  Such  a  one  have  I.  The  grounds  before 
my  fence  are  in  common,  and  all  the  neighbors' 
cows  pasture  there.  I  remarked  to  Mrs.  S.,  as 
we  stood  at  the  window  in  a  June  sunset,  how 
placid  and  picturesque  the  cattle  looked,  as 
they  strolled  about,  cropping  the  green  herbage. 
116 


Living  in  the  Country- 
Next  morning  I  found  the  innocent  creatures 
in  my  garden.  They  had  not  left  a  green  thing 
in  it.  The  corn  in  the  milk,  the  beans  on  the 
poles,  the  young  cabbages,  the  tender  lettuce, 
even  the  thriving  shoots  on  my  young  fruit  trees 
had  vanished.  And  there  they  were,  looking 
quietly  on  the  ruin  they  had  made.  Our  watch- 
dog, too,  was  foregathering  with  them.  It  was 
too  much;  so  I  got  a  large  stick  and  drove  them 
all  out,  except  a  young  heifer,  whom  I  chased  all 
over  the  flower-beds,  breaking  down  my  trellises, 
my  woodbines  and  sweet-briers,  my  roses  and 
petunias,  until  I  cornered  her  in  the  hotbed.  J 
had  to  call  for  assistance  to  extricate  her  from 
the  sashes,  and  her  owner  has  sued  me  for  dam- 
ages.     I  believe  I  shall  move  in  town. 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  and  I  have  concluded  to  try 
it  once  more;  we  are  going  to  give  the  country 
another  chance.  After  all,  birds  in  the  spring 
are  lovely.  First  come  little  snowbirds,  avant- 
couriers  of  the  feathered  army ;  then  bluebirds 
in  national  uniforms,  just  graduated,  perhaps, 
from  the  ornithological  corps  of  cadets  with  high 
honors  in  the  topographical  class;  then  follows  a 
detachment  of  flying  artillery — swallows;  sand- 
martens,  sappers  and  miners,  begin  their  mines 
and  countermines  under  the  sandy  parapets* 
then  cedar  birds,  in  trim  jackets  faced  with 
yellow — aha,  dragoons!  And  then  the  great 
rank  and  file  of  infantry,  robins,  wrens,  sparrows, 
chipping-birds;  and  lastly — the  band! 
117 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

From  nature's  oM  cathedral  sweetly  ring 

The  wild  bird  choirs — burst  of  the  woodland  band. 

— who    mid    the    blossoms    sing, 
Their  leafy  temple,  gloomy,  tall  and  grand. 
Pillared  with  oaks,  and  roofed  with  Heaven's  own  band. 

There,  there,  that  is  Mario.  Hear  that  magnif- 
icent chest  note  from  the  chestnuts!  then  a 
crescendo,  falling  in  silence — a  plomb  ! 

Hush!  he  begins  again  with  a.  low,  liquid  mono- 
tone, mounting  by  degrees  and  swelling  into  an 
infinitude  of  melody — the  whole  grove  dilating, 
as  it  were,  with  exquisite  epithalamium. 

Silence    now — and   how   still! 

Hush !  the  musical  monologue  begins  anew ;  up, 
up  into  the  tree-tops  it  mounts,  fairly  lifting  the 
leaves  with  its  passionate  effluence,  it  trills 
through  the  upper  branches — and  then  dripping 
down  the  listening  foliage,  in  a  cadenza  of 
matchless  beauty,  subsides  into  silence  again. 

"That's  a  he  catbird,"  says  my  carpenter. 

A  catbird?  Then  Shakespeare  and  Shelley 
have  wasted  powder  upon  the  skylark;  for  never 
such  "profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art" 
issued  from  living  bird  before.  Skylark!  pooh' 
who  would  rise  at  dawn  to  hear  the  skylark  if 
a  catbird  were  about  after  breakfast? 

I  have  bought  me  a  boat.  A  boat  is  a  good 
thing  to  have  in  the  country,  especially  if  there 
be  any  water  near.  There  is  a  fine  beach  in  front 
of  my  house.  When  visitors  come  I  usually  pro- 
pose to  give  them  a  row.  I  go  down — and  find 
the  boat  full  of  water;  then  I  send  to  the  house 
for  a  dipper  and  prepare  to  bail;  and,  what  with 
118 


Living  in  the  Country 

bailing  and  swabbing  her  with  a  mop  and  plug- 
ging up  the  cracks  in  her  sides,  and  struggling 
to  get  the  rudder  in  its  place,  and  unlocking  the 
rusty  padlock,  my  strength  is  so  much  exhausted 
that  it  is  almost  impossible  for  me  to  handle  the 
oars.  Meanwhile  the  poor  guests  sit  on  stones 
around  the  beach  with  woe-begone  faces. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  "why 
don't  you  sell  that  boat?  " 

"Sell  it?     Ha!  ha!" 

One  day  a  Quaker  lady  from  Philadelphia  paid 
us  a  visit.  She  was  uncommonly  dignified,  and 
walked  down  to  the  water  in  the  most  stately 
manner,  as  is  customary  with  Friends.  It  was 
just  twilight,  deepening  into  darkness,  when 
I  set  about  preparing  the  boat,  Meanwhile 
iui  Friend  seated  herself  upon  something  on 
„he  beach.  While  I  was  engaged  in  bailing, 
the  wind  shifted,  and  I  became  sensible  of 
an  unpleasant  odor;  afraid  that  our  Friend 
would  perceive  it,  too,  I  whispered  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass  to  coax  her  off  and  get  her 
farther  up  the  beach. 

"Thank  thee,  no,  Susan:  I  feel  a  smell  here- 
about and  I  am  better  where  I  am." 

Mrs.  S.  came  back  and  whispered  mysteri- 
ously that  our  Friend  was  sitting  on  a  dead  dog 
at  which  I  redoubled  the  bailing  and  got  her  out 
in  deep  water  as  soon  as  possible. 

Dogs  have  a  remarkable  scent.  A  dead  setter 
one  morning  found  his  way  to  our  beach,  and  I 
towed  him  out  into  the  middle  of  the  river;  but 
U9 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

the  faithful  creature  came  back  in  less  than  an 
hour — that  dog's  smell  was  remarkable  indeed. 
I  have  bought  me  a  fyke!  A  fyke  is  a  good 
thing  to  have  in  the  country.  A  fyke  is  a  fish- 
net, with  long  wings  on  each  side;  in  shape  like  a 
nightcap  with  ear  lappets;  in  mechanism  like  a 
rat-trap.  You  put  a  stake  at  the  tip  end  of  the 
nightcap,  a  stake  at  ,?ach  end  of  the  outspread 
lappets ;  there  are  large  hoops  to  keep  the  night- 
cap distended,  sinkers  to  keep  the  lower  sides  of 
the  lappets  under  water,  and  floats  as  large  as 
muskmelons  to  keep  the  upper  sides  above  the 
water.  The  stupid  fish  come  downstream,  and, 
rubbing  their  noses  against  the  wings,  follow  the 
curve  toward  the  fyke  and  swim  into  the  trap. 
When  they  get  in  they  cannot  get  out..  That  is 
the  philosophy  of  a  fyke.  I  bought  one  of 
Conroy.  "Now,"  said  I  to  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass.. 
"we  shall  have  fresh  fish  to-morrow  for  break- 
fast," and  went  out  to  set  it.  I  drove  the  stakes 
in  the  mud,  spread  the  fyke  in  the  boat,  tied  the 
end  of  one  wing  to  the  stake,  and  cast  the  whole 
into  the  water.  The  tide  carried  it  out  in  a 
straight  line.  I  got  the  loose  end  fastened  to  the 
boat,  and  found  it  impossible  to  row  bade  against 
the  tide  with  the  fyke.  I  then  untied  it,  and  it 
went  downstream,  stake  and  all.  I  got  it  into 
the  boat,  rowed  up,  and  set  the  stake  again. 
Then  I  tied  one  end  to  the  stake  and  got  out  of 
the  boat  myself  in  shoal  water.  Then  the  boat 
got  away  in  deep  water;  then  I  had  to  swim  for 
the  boat.  Then  I  rowed  back  and  untied  the 
120 


Living  in  the  Country- 
fyke.  Then  the  fyke  got  away.  Then  I  jumped 
out  of  the  boat  to  save  the  fyke  and  the  boat  got 
away.  Then  I  had  to  swim  again  after  the  boat 
and  row  after  the  fyke,  and  finally  was  glad  to 
get  my  net  on  dry  land,  where  I  left  it  for  a  week 
in  the  sun.  Then  I  hired  a  man  to  set  it,  and  he 
did,  but  he  said  it  was  "rotted."  Nevertheless, 
in  it  I  caught  two  small  flounders  and  an  eel.  At 
last  a  brace  of  Irishmen  came  down  to  my  beach 
for  a  swim  at  high  tide.  One  of  them,  a  stout, 
athletic  fellow,  after  performing  sundry  aquatic 
gymnastics,  dived  under  and  disappeared  for  a 
fearful  length  of  time.  The  truth  is,  he  had 
dived  into  my  net.  After  much  turmoil  in  the 
water,  he  rose  to  the  surface  with  the  filaments 
nanging  over  his  head,  and  cried  out,  as  if  he  had 
found  a  bird's  nest:  "I  say,  Jimmy!  begorra, 
here's  a  foike!"  That  unfeeling  exclamation  to 
Jimmy,  who  was  not  the  owner  of  the  net,  made 
me  almost  wish  that  it  had  not  been  "rotted." 

We  are  worried  about  our  cucumbers.  Mrs. 
S.  is  fond  of  cucumbers,  so  I  planted  enough 
for  ten  families.  The  more  they  arc  picked,  the 
faster  they  grow;  and  if  you  do  not  pick  them, 
they  turn  yellow  and  look  ugly.  Our  neighbor 
has  plenty,  too.  He  sent  us  some  one  morning, 
by  way  of  a  present.  What  to  do  with  them  we 
did  not  know,  with  so  many  of  our  own.  To  give 
them  away  was  not  polite;  to  throw  them  away 
was  sinful;  to  eat  them  was  impossible.  Mrs. 
S.  said,  "Save  them  for  seed."  So  we  did. 
Next  day,  our  neighbor  sent  us  a  dozen  more. 
121 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

We  thanked  the  messenger  grimly  and  tock 
them  in.  Next  morning  another  dozen  came. 
It  was  getting  to  be  a  serious  matter;  so  I  rose 
betimes  the  following  morning,  and  when  my 
neighbor's  cucumbers  came  I  filled  his  man's 
basket  with  some  of  my  own,  by  way  of  exchange. 
This  bit  of  pleasantry  was  resented  by  my  neigh- 
bor, who  told  his  man  to  throw  them  to  the 
hogs.  His  man  told  our  girl,  and  our  girl  told 
Mrs.  S.,  and,  in  consequence,  all  intimacy 
between  the  two  families  has  ceased;  the  ladies 
do  not  speak,  even  at  church. 

We  have  another  neighbor,  whose  name  is 
Bates;  he  keeps  cows.  This  year  our  gate  has 
been  fixed;  but  my  young  peach  trees  near  the 
fences  are  accessible  from  the  road;  and  Bates's 
cows  walk  along  that  road  morning  and  evening. 
The  sound  of  a  cow-bell  is  pleasant  in  the  twilight 
Sometimes,  after  dark,  we  hear  the  mysterious 
curfew  tolling  along  the  road,  and  then  with  a 
louder  peal  it  stops  before  our  fence  and  agaij 
tolls  itself  off  in  the  distance.  The  result  is  my 
peach  trees  are  as  bare  as  bean-poles.  One  day 
I  saw  Mr.  Bates  walking  along,  and  I  hailed  him: 
"Bates,  those  are  your  cows  there,  I  believe?" 
"Yes,  sir;  nice  ones,  ain't  they?"  "Yes,"  I 
replied,  "they  are  nice  ones.  Do  you  see  that 
tree  there?" — and  I  pointed  to  a  thrifty  peach, 
with  about  as  many  leaves  as  an  exploded  sky- 
rocket. "Yes,  sir."  "Well,  Bates,  that  red- 
and-white  cow  of  yours  yonder  ate  the  top  off 
that  tree;  I  saw  her  do  it."  Then  I  thought  I 
122 


Living  in  the  Country 

had  made  Bates  ashamed  of  himself,  and  had 
wounded  his  feelings,  perhaps,  too  much.  I  was 
afraid  he  would  offer  me  money  for  the  tree,  which 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  decline  at  once.  "Spar- 
rowgrass,"  said  he,  "it  don't  hurt  a  tree  a  single 
morsel  to  chaw  it  if  it's  a  young  tree.  For  my 
part,  I'd  rather  have  my  young  trees  chawed  than 
not.  I  think  it  makes  them  grow  a  leetle  better. 
I  can't  do  it  with  mine,  but  you  can,  because  you 
can  wait  to  have  good  trees,  and  the  only  way  to 
have  good  trees  is  to  have  'em  chawed." 

.We  have  put  a  dumb-waiter  in  our  house.  A 
dumb-waiter  is  a  good  thing  to  have  in  the 
country,  on  account  of  its  convenience.  If  you 
have  company,  everything  can  be  sent  up  from 
the  kitchen  without  any  trouble ;  and  if  the  baby 
gets  to  be  unbearable,  on  account  of  his  teeth, 
you  can  dismiss  the  complainant  by  stuffing  him 
in  one  of  the  shelves  and  letting  him  down  upon 
the  help.  To  provide  for  contingencies,  we  had 
all  our  floors  deafened.  In  consequence,  you 
cannot  hear  anything  that  is  going  on  in  the 
story  below;  and  when  you  are  in  the  upper 
room  of  the  house  there  might  be  a  democratic 
ratification  meeting  in  the  cellar  and  you  would 
not  know  it.  Therefore,  if  anyone  should  break 
into  the  basement  it  would  not  disturb  us,  but 
to  please  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  I  put  stout  iron  bars 
in  all  the  lower  windows.  Besides,  Mrs.  Spar- 
rowgrass had  bought  a  rattle  when  she  was  in 
Philadelphia;  such  a  rattle  as  watchmen  carry 
123 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

there.  This  is  to  alarm  our  neighbor,  who 
upon  the  signal,  is  to  come  to  the  rescue  with  his 
revolver.  He  is  a  rash  man,  prone  to  pull  trigger 
first  and  make  inquiries  afterward. 

One  evening  Mrs.  S.  had  retired  and  I  was 
busy  writing,  when  it  struck  me  a  glass  of  ice- 
water  would  be  palatable.  So  I  took  the  candle 
and  a  pitcher  and  went  down  to  the  pump.  Our 
pump  is  in  the  kitchen.  A  country  pump  in  the 
kitchen  is  more  convenient;  but  a  well  with 
buckets  is  certainly  more  picturesque.  Unfortu- 
nately, our  well  water  has  not  been  sweet  since 
it  was  cleaned  out.  First  I  had  to  open  a  bolted 
door  that  lets  you  into  the  basement  hall,  and 
then  I  went  to  the  kitchen  door,  which  proved 
to  be  locked.  Then  I  remembered  that  our  girl 
always  carried  the  key  to  bed  with  her  and  slept 
with  it  under  her  pillow.  Then  I  retraced  my 
steps,  bolted  the  basement  door,  and  went  up 
into  the  dining-room.  As  is  always  the  case,  I 
found,  when  I  could  not  get  any  water,  I  was 
thirstier  than  I  supposed  I  was.  Then  I  thought 
I  would  wake  our  girl  up.  Then  I  concluded  not 
to  do  it.  Then  I  thought  of  the  well,  but  I  gave 
that  up  on  account  of  its  flavor.  Then  I  opened 
the  closet  doors;  there  was  no  water  there;  and 
then  I  thought  of  the  dumb-waiter!  The  novelty 
of  the  idea  made  me  smile.  I  took  out  two  of  the 
movable  shelves,  stood  the  pitcher  on  the  bottom 
of  the  dumb-waiter,  got  in  myself  with  the  lamp; 
let  myself  down,  until  I  supposed  I  was  within  a 
foot  of  the  floor  below,  and  then  let  go! 
124 


Living  in  the  Country 

We  came  down  so  suddenly  that  I  was  shot  out 
of  the  apparatus  as  if  it  had  been  a  catapult ;  it 
broke  the  pitcher,  extinguished  the  lamp,  and 
landed  me  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen  at  mid- 
night, with  no  fire  and  the  air  not  much  above 
the  zero  point.  The  truth  is,  I  had  miscalculated 
the  distance  of  the  descent — instead  of  falling  one 
foot,  I  had  fallen  five.  My  first  impulse  was  to 
ascend  by  the  way  I  came  down,  but  I  found 
that  impracticable.  Then  I  tried  the  kitchen 
door ;  it  was  locked.  I  tried  to  force  it  open ;  it 
was  made  of  two-inch  stuff,  and  held  its  own. 
Then  I  hoisted  a  window,  and  there  were  the 
rigid  iron  bars.  If  ever  I  felt  angry  at 
anybod)'  it  was  at  myself  for  putting  up 
those  bars  to  please  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass.  I 
put  them  up,  not  to  keep  people  in,  but  to 
keep  people  out. 

I  laid  my  cheek  against  the  ice-cold  barriers 
and  looked  out  at  the  sky ;  not  a  star  was  visible ; 
it  was  as  black  as  ink  overhead.  Then  I  thought 
of  Baron  Trenck  and  the  prisoner  of  Chillon. 
Then  I  made  a  noise.  I  shouted  until  I  was 
hoarse,  and  ruined  our  preserving  kettle  with  the 
poker.  That  brought  our  dogs  out  in  full  bark, 
and  between  us  we  made  night  hideous.  Then 
I  thought  I  heard  a  voice  and  listened — it  was 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  calling  to  me  from  the  top  of 
the  staircase.  I  tried  to  make  her  hear  me,  but 
the  infernal  dogs  united  with  howl,  and  growl, 
and  bark,  so  as  to  drown  my  voice,  which  is 
naturally  plaintive  and  tender.  Besides  there 
125 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

were  two  bolted  doors  and  double-deafened  floors 
between  us;  how  could  she  recognize  my  voice, 
even  if  she  did  hear  it  ?  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  called 
once  or  twice  and  then  got  frightened;  the  next 
thing  I  heard  was  a  sound  as  if  the  roof  had  fallen 
in,  by  which  I  understood  that  Mrs.  Sparrow- 
grass  was  springing  the  rattle!  That  called  out 
our  neighbor,  already  wide  awake;  he  came  to 
the  rescue  with  a  bull-terrier,  a  Newfoundland 
pup,  a  lantern,  and  a  revolver.  The  moment  hff 
saw  me  at  the  window  he  shot  at  me,  but  for* 
tunately  just  missed  me.  I  threw  myself  under 
the  kitchen  table  and  ventured  to  expostulate 
with  him,  but  he  would  not  listen  to  reason.  In 
the  excitement  I  had  forgotten  his  name,  and 
that  made  matters  worse.  It  was  not  until  he 
had  roused  up  everybody  around,  broken  in  the 
basement  door  with  an  ax,  gotten  into  the  kitchen 
with  his  cursed  savage  dogs  and  shooting-iron, 
and  seized  me  by  the  collar,  that  he  recognized 
me — and  then  he  wanted  me  to  explain  it! 
But  what  kind  of  an  explanation  could  I  make  to 
him?  I  told  him  he  would  have  to  wait  until 
my  mind  was  composed,  and  then  I  would  let 
him  understand  the  whole  matter  full}'.  But 
he  never  would  have  had  the  particulars  from 
me,  for  I  do  not  approve  of  neighbors  that  shoot 
at  you,  break  in  your  door,  and  treat  you  in 
your  own  house,  as  if  you  were  a  jailbird.  He 
knows  all  about  it,  however — somebody  has  told 
him — somebody  tells  everybody  everything  in  our 
village. — The  Sparrowgrass  Papers. 
126 


LOVE  IN  A  COTTAGE 

They  may  talk  of  love  in  a  cottage, 

And  bowers  of  trellised  vine — 
Of  nature  bewitchingly  simple, 

And    milkmaids    half    divine; 
They  may  talk  of  the  pleasure  of  sleeping 

In  the  shade  of  a  spreading  tree, 
And  a  walk  in  the  fields  at  morning, 

By  the  side  of  a  footstep  free! 

But  give  me  a  sly  flirtation 

By  the  light  of  a  chandelier — 
With  music  to  play  in  the  pauses, 

And   nobody   very   near; 
Or  a  seat  on  a  silken  sofa, 

With  a  glass  of  pure  old  wine, 
And  mamma  too  blind  to  discover 

The  small  white  hand  in  mine. 


Your  love  in  a  cottage  is  hungry. 

Your  vine  is  a  nest  for  flies — 
Your  milkmaid  shocks  the  Graces, 

And  simplicity  talks  of  pies! 
You  lie  down  to  your  shady  slumber 

And  wake  with  a  bug  in  your  ear, 
And  your  damsel  that  walks  in  the  morning 

Is  shod  like  a  mountaineer. 
127 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

True  love  is  at  home  on  a  carpet, 

And  mightily  likes  his  ease — 
And  true  love  has  an  eye  for  a  dinner> 

And  starves  beneath  shady  trees. 
His  wing  is  the  fan  of  a  lady, 

His  foot's  an  invisible  thing, 
And  his  arrow  is  tipp'd  with  a  jewel 

And   shot  from  a  silver  string. 

Nathaniel   Parker  Willis. 


A  CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE 

Uncle  Jack:  "It  is  very  good  lemonade,  I 
am  sure;  but  tell  me,  Bonnie,  why  do  you  sell 
yours  for  three  cents  a  glass  when  Charley  gets 
five  for  his?" 

Miss  Bonnie:  "  Well,  you  mustn't  tell  any 
body,  Uncle  Jack,  but  the  puppy  fell  in  mine, 
and  I  thought  it  ought  to  be  cheaper." 

A  Hingham,  Massachusetts,  woman  is  said  to 
have  hit  upon  a  happy  idea  when  she  was  puzzled 
what  to  do  in  order  to  tell  her  mince  and  apple 
pies  apart.  She  was  advised  to  mark  them,  and 
did  so,  and  complacently  announced:  "This 
I've  marked  'T.  M' — Tis  mince;  an'  that  I've 
marked  'T.  M.' — 'Taint  mince." 

Doctor  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  used  to  be  an 
amateur  photographer,     When  he  presented  a 
picture  to  a  friend,  he  wrote  on  the  back  of  it, 
"Taken  by  0.  W.  Holmes  &  Sun." 
128 


HANS  BREITMANN'S  PARTY 

Hans  Breitmann  gife  a  barty: 

Dey   had   biano-blayin' : 
I  felled  in  lofe  mit  a  'Merican  frau, 

Her    name   was    Madilda    Yane, 
She  hat  haar  as  prown  as  a  pretzel, 

Her  eyes  vas  himmel-plue, 
Und  ven  dey  looket  indo  mine, 

Dey  shplit  mine  heart  in  two. 


Hans   Breitmann   gife   a   barty: 

I  vent  dere,  you'll  be  pound. 
I  valtzet  mit  Madilda  Yane 

Und  vent  shpinnen  round  und  round. 
De  pootiest  Fraulein  in  de  house, 

She   veyed    'pout   dwo   hoondred   pound. 
Und  efery  dime  she  gife  a  shoomp 

She  make  de  vindows  sound. 


Hans   Breitmann   gife   a   barty: 

I  dells  you  it  cost  him  dear. 
Dey  rolled  in  more  ash  sefen  kecks 

Of  foost  rate  Lager  Beer, 
Und  venefer  dey  knocks  de  shpicket  in 

De  Deutschers  gifes  a  cheer. 
I  dinks  dat  so  vine  a  barty 

Nefer  coom  to  a  het  dis  year. 
189 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

Hans   Breitmann   gife   a   barty: 

Dere  all  vas  Souse  und  Brouse; 
Ven  de  sooper  corned  in,  de  gompany 

Did  make  demselfs  to  house. 
Dey  ate  das  Brot  und  Gensy  broost, 

De  Bratwutst  und  Braten  fine, 
Und   vash   der   Abendessen   down 

Mit  four  parrels  of  Neckarwein. 

Hans   Breitmann   gife   a   barty: 

We   all   cot  troonk  ash   pigs. 
I  poot  mine  mout  to  a  parrel  of  beer. 

Und  emptied  it  oop  mit  a  schwigs. 
Und  denn  I  gissed  Madilda  Yane 

Und  she  shlog  me  on  the  kop, 
Und  de  gompany  fited  mit  dable-leck? 

Dill  de  coonsthable  made  oos  shtop. 

Hans  Breitmann  gife  a  barty — 

Where  ish  dat  barty  now! 
Where  ish  de  lofely  golden  cloud 

Dat  float  on  de  mountain's  prow? 
Where  ish  de  himmelstrahlende  Stern — 

De  shtar  of  de  shpirit's  light? 
All  goned  afay  mit  de  Lager  Beer — 

Afay    in    de    Ewigkeit! 

Charles  Godfrey  Leland 


ISO 


FRANCES  M.  WHICHER 

TIM  CRANE  AND  THE  WIDOW 

"O,  no,  Mr.  Crane,  by  no  manner  o'  means, 
tain't  a  minnit  tew  soon  for  you  to  begin  to  talk 
about  gittin'  married  agin.  I  am  amazed  you 
should  be  afeerd  I'd  think  so.  See — how  long's 
Miss  Crane  ben  dead?  Six  months — land  o' 
Goshen! — why,  I've  know'd  a  number  of  individ- 
diwals  get  married  in  less  time  than  that.  There's 
Phil  Bennett's  widder  't  I  was  a-talkin'  about 
jest  now — she  't  was  Louisy  Perce — her  husband 
hadent  been  dead  but  three  months,  you  know.  I 
don't  think  it  looks  well  for  a  woman  to  be  in 
such  a  hurry — but  for  a  man  it's  a  different  thing 
— circumstances  alters  cases,  you  know.  And 
then,  sittiwated  as  you  be,  Mr.  Crane,  it's  a 
turrible  thing  for  your  family  to  be  without  a 
head  to  superintend  the  domestic  consarns  and 
tend  to  the  children  — to  say  nothin'  o'  yerself , 
Mr.  Crane.  You  dew  need  a  companion,  and  no 
mistake.  Six  months!  Good  grievous!  Why, 
Squire  Titus  dident  wait  but  six  weeks  arter  he 
buried  his  fust  wife  afore  he  married  his  second. 
I  thought  ther  wa'n't  no  partickler  need  o'  his 
hurryin'  so,  seein'  his  family  was  all  grow'd  up. 
Such  a  critter  as  he  pickt  out,  tew!  'twas  very 
onsuitable — but  every  man  to  his  taste — I  hain't 
no  dispersition  to  meddle  with  nobody's  consarns. 
131 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

There's  old  farmer  Dawson,  tew — his  pardner 
hain't  ben  dead  but  ten  months.  To  be  sure,  he 
ain't  married  yet — but  he  would  a-ben  long 
enough  ago  if  somebody  I  know  on'd  gin  him  any 
incurridgement.  But  'tain't  for  me  to  speak  o* 
that  matter.  He's  a  clever  old  critter  and  as 
rich  as  a  Jew — but — lawful  sakes!  he's  old 
enough  to  be  my  father.  And  there's  Mr.  Smith 
■ — Jubiter  Smith;  you  know  him,  Mr.  Crane — his 
wife  (she  'twas  Aurory  Pike)  she  died  last  sum- 
mer, and  he's  ben  squintin'  round  among  the 
wimmin  ever  since,  and  he  may  squint  for  all  the 
good  it'll  dew  him  so  far  as  I'm  consarned — tho' 
Mr.  Smith's  a  respectable  man — quite  young  and 
hain't  no  family — very  well  off,  tew,  and  quite 
intellectible — but  I'm  purty  partickler.  O,  Mr. 
Crane!  it's  ten  year  come  Jinniwary  sence  I 
witnessed  the  expiration  o'  my  belovid  com- 
panion— an  oncommon  long  time  to  wait,  to  be 
sure — but  'tain't  easy  to  find  anybody  to  fill  the 
place  o'  Hezekier  Bedott.  I  think  you're  the 
most  like  husband  of  ary  individdiwal  I  ever  see, 
Mr.  Crane.  Six  months!  Murderation!  Curus 
you  should  be  afeered  I'd  think  't  was  tew  soon 
— why,  I've  know'd " 

Mr.  Crane.  "Well,  widder — I've  been  think- 
ing about  taking  another  companion — and  I 
thought   I'd   ask  you " 

Widow.  "O,  Mr.  Crane,  egscuse  my  commo- 
tion, it's  so  onexpected.  Jest  hand  me  that  are 
bottle  of  camfire  off  the  mantletry  shelf — I'm 
ruther  faint  —  dew  put  a  little  mite  on  my 
132 


Tim  Crane  and  the  Widow 

handkercher  and  hold  it  to   my  nuz.      There  — ■ 
that'll  dew  —  I'm  obleeged  tew  ye  —  now   I'm 
ruther    more    composed  —  you    may    perceed 
Mr.  Cra  le." 

Mr.  Craxk.  "Well,  widder,  I  was  a-going  to 
ask  you  whether — whether " 

Widow.  "Continner,  Mr.  Crane — dew — I 
knew  it's  tumble  embarrissin'.  I  remember 
when  my  dezeased  husband  made  his  supposi- 
tions to  me  he  stammered  and  stuttered,  and 
was  so  awfully  flustered  it  did  seems  as  if  he'd 
never  git  it  out  in  the  world,  and  I  s'pose  it's 
ginnerally  the  case,  at  least  it  has  been  with  all 
them  that's  made  suppositions  to  me — you  see 
they're  ginerally  oncerting  about  what  kind  of 
an  answer  they're  a-gwine  to  git,  and  it  kind  o' 
makes  'em  narvous.  But  when  an  individdiwal 
has  reason  to  suppose  his  attachment's  reperated, 
I  don't  see  what  need  there  is  o'  his  bein'  frus- 
trated— tho'  I  must  say  it's  quite  embarrassin' 
to  me — pray  continner." 

Mr.  C.  "Well,  then,  I  want  to  know  if  yu're 
willing    I    should    have    Melissy?" 

Widow.     "The  dragon!" 

Mr.  C.  "I  hain't  said  anything  to  her  about 
it  yet — thought  the  proper  way  was  to  get  your 
consent  first.  I  remember  when  I  courted 
Trypheny,  we  were  engaged  some  time  before 
mother  Kenipe  knew  anything  about  it,  and 
when  she  found  it  out  she  was  quite  put  out 
because  I  dident  go  to  her  first.  So  when 
1  made  up  my  mind  about  Melissy,  thinks 
183 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

me,  I'll  dew  it  right  this  time  and  speak  to 
the  old  woman  first " 

Widow.  "Old  woman,  hey!  That's  a  purty 
name  to  call  me  I — amazin  perlite,  tew!  Want 
Melissy,  hey!  Tribbleation!  Gracious  sakes 
alive!  Well,  I'll  give  it  up  now!  I  always  know'd 
you  was  a  simpleton,  Tim  Crane,  but  I  must  con- 
fess I  dident  think  you  was  quite  so  big  a  fool! 
Want  Melissy,  dew  ye?  If  that  don't  beat  all! 
What  an  everlastin'  old  calf  you  must  be  to 
s'pose  she'd  look  at  you.  Why,  you're  old  enough 
to  be  her  father,  and  more  tew — Melissy  ain't 
■only  in  her  twenty-oneth  year.  What  a  reedicki- 
lous  idee  for  a  man  o'  your  age!  as  gray  as  a  rat, 
tew!  I  wonder  what  this  world  is  a-comin'  tew: 
'tis  astonishin'  what  fools  old  widdiwers  will 
make  o'  themselves!     Have  Melissy!     Melissy!" 

Mr.  C.  "Why,  widder,  you  surprise  me.  I'd 
no  idee  of  being  treated  in  this  way  after  you'd, 
been  so  polite  to  me,  and  made  such  a  fuss  over 
me  and  the  girls." 

Widow.  "Shet  yer  head,  Tim  Crane — nun  o' 
yer  sass  to  me.  There's  yer  hat  on  that  are  table, 
and  here's  the  door — and  the  sooner  you  put  on 
one  and  march  out  o'  t'other,  the  better  it'll  be 
for  you.  And  I  advise  you  afore  you  try  to 
git  married  again,  to  go  out  West  and  see  'f  ynr 
wife's  cold — and  arter  ye're  satisfied  on  that  pint, 
jest  put  a  little  lampblack  on  yer  hair — 'twould 
add  to  yer  appearance  undoubtedly,  and  be  of 
Barvice  tew  you  when  you  want  to  flourish  round, 
among  the  gals — and  when  ye've  got  yer  hair 
134 


Tim  Crane  and  the  Widow 

nxt,  jest  splinter  the  spine  o'  yer  back — 'twould'n' 
hurt  yer  looks  a  mite — you'd  be  intirely  unre- 
sistible  if  you  was  a  leetle  grain  straiter." 

Mr.   C.     "Well,   I  never!" 

Widow.  "Hold  yer  tongue — you  consarned 
old  coot  you.  I  tell  ye  there's  your  hat,  and  there's 
the  door — be  off  with  yerrglf,  quick  metre,  or  I'll 
^ive  ye  a  hyst  with  the  broomstick." 

Mr.  C.     "Gimmeni!" 

Widow  {rising).  "Git  out,  I  say — I  ain't 
a-gwine  to  stan'  here  and  be  insulted  under  my 
own  ruff — and  so  git  along — and  if  ever  you 
darken  my  door  again,  or  say  a  word  to  Melissy, 
it'll  be  the  woss  for  you — that's  all." 

Mr.  C.     "Treemenjous!     What  a  buster!" 

Widow.  "Go  'long — go  'long — go  'long,  you 
everlastin'  old  gum.  I  won't  hear  another  word  ' 
[stops  her  ears].     "I  won't,  I  won't,  I  won't." 

[Exit    Mr.    Crane. 
{Enter  Melissa,  accompanied  by  Captain  Canooi.) 

"Good-evenin",  Cappen!  Well,  Melissy,  hum 
at  last,  hey?  Why  didn't  you  stay  till  mornin'? 
Purty  business  keepin*  me  up  here  so  late  waitin' 
for  you — when  I'm  eny  most  tired  to  death 
ironin'  and  workin'  like  a  s^ve  all  day — ought 
to  ben  abed  an  hour  ago.  Thought  ye  left  me 
with  agreeable  company,  hey?  I  should  like  to 
know  what  arthly  reason  you  had  to  s'pose  old 
Crane  was  agreeable  to  me?  I  always  despised 
the  critter;  always  thought  he  wuz  a  turrible  fool 
— and  now  I'm  convinced  on't.  I'm  completely 
iizgusted  wit  him — and  I  let  him  know  it  to-night. 
1S5 


Masterpieces  of  Hui 

'  gin  him  a  piece  o'  my  mind  't  I  guess  he'll  be 
apt  to  remember  for  a  spell.  I  ruther  think  he 
went  off  with  a  flea  in  his  ear.  Why,  Cappen  — 
did  ye  ever  hear  of  such  a  piece  of  audacity  in  all 
yer  born  days?  for  him — Tim  Cra::e  —  to  durst  to 
expire  to  my  hand  —  the  widder  o'  Deacon  Bedott 
jest  as  if  I'd  condescen'  to  look  at  Ann— the  old 
numbskull  !  He  don't  know  B  from  a  broom- 
stick ;  but  if  he'd  a-stayed  much  longer  I'd 
a-teached  him  the  difference,  I  guess.     He's  got 

,'  ticket  now  —  I  hope  he'll  lemmc 
in  futur.  And  where's  Kier?  Gun  hum  with 
the  Cranes,  hey!  Well,  I  guess  it's  the  last  time. 
And  now,  Melissy  Bedott,  you  ain't  to  have 
nothin'  more  to  dew  with  them  gals — d'ye  hear? 
You  ain't  to  'sociate  with  'em  at  all  arter  this — 
'twould  only  be  incurridgin'  th'  old  man  to  come 
a-pesterin'  me  agin — and  I  won't  have  him  round 
— d'ye  hear?  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  Cappen — 
and  don't  be  alarmed  at  my  gittin'  in  such  passion 
about  old  Crane's  presumption.  Mabby  you 
think  'twas  onfeelin'  in  me  to  use  him  so — an'  1 
don't  say  but  what  'twas  ruther,  but  then  h. 
awful  dizagreeable  tew  me,  you  know — 'tain't 
everybody  I'd  treat  in  such  a  way.  Well,  if  you 
must  go,  good-evenin' !  Give  my  love  to  Hanner 
when  you  write  agin — dew  call  frequently, 
Cappen  Canoot,  dew." — The  Bedott  Papers 


136 


THE  STAMMERING  WIFE 

When  deeply  in  love  with  Miss  Emily  Pryne. 
I  vowed,  if  the  maiden  would  only  be  mine, 

I  would  always  endeavor  to  please  her. 
She  blushed  her  consent,  though  the  stuttering 

lass 
Said  never  a  word  except  "You're  an  ass — 

An  ass — an  ass-iduous  teaser!" 

But  when  we  were  married,  I  found  to  my  ruth, 
The  stammering  lady  had  spoken  the  truth; 

For  often,  in  obvious  dudgeon, 
She'd  say,  if  I  ventured  to  give  her  a  jog 
In  the  way  of  reproof — "You're  a  dog — you're 
a  dog — 

A  dog — a  dog-matic  curmudgeon!" 

And  once  when  I  said,  "We  can  hardly  afford 
This  extravagant  style,  with  our  moderate  hoard, 

And  hinted  we  ought  to  be  wiser. 
She  looked,  I  assure  you,  exceedingly  blue, 
And  fretfully  cried,    "You're  a  Jew — you're  a 
Jew— 

A    very    ju-dicious    adviser!" 

Again,  when  it  happened  that,  wishing  to  shirk 
Some  rather  unpleasant  and  arduous  work. 
I  begged  her  to  go  to  a  neighbor, 
137 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

She  wanted  to  know  why  I  made  such  a  fuss, 

And  saucily  said,  "You're  a  cuss — cuss — cuss — 

You  were  always  ac-cus-tomed  to  labor!" 

Out  of  temper  at  last  with  the  insolent  dame, 
And  feeling  that  madam  was  greatly  to  blame 

To  scold  me  instead  of  caressing, 
I  mimicked  her  speech — like  a  churl  that  I  am — 
And  angrily  said,   "You're  a  dam — dam— dam 

A  dam-age  instead  of  a  blessing!" 

John   Godfrey   Saxe. 


HE  ROSE  TO  THE  OCCASION 

Several  years  ago  there  labored  in  one  of  the 
Western  villages  of  Minnesota  a  preacher  who 
was  always  in  the  habit  of  selecting  his  texts 
from  the  Old  Testament,  and  particularly  some 
portion  of  the  history  of  Noah.  No  matter  what 
the  occasion  was,  he  would  always  find  some 
parallel  incident  from  the  history  of  this  great 
character  that  would  readily  serve  as  a  text  or 
illustration. 

At  one  time  he  was  called  upon  to  unite  the 
daughter  of  the  village  mayor  and  a  prominent 
attorney  in  the  holy  bonds  of  matrimony.  Two 
little  boys,  knowing  his  determination  to  give 
them  a  portion  of  the  sacred  history  touching 
Noah's  marriage  hit  upon  the  novel  idea  of 
pasting  together  two  leaves  in  the  family  Bible 
so  as  to  connect,  without  any  apparent  break 
138 


Polite 

the  marriage  of  Noah  and  the  description  of  the 
Ark  of  the  Covenant. 

When  the  noted  guests  were  all  assembled  and 
the  contracting  parties  with  attendants  in  their 
respective  stations,  the  preacher  began  the  cere- 
monies by  reading  the  following  text:  "And 
when  Noah  was  one  hundred  and  forty  years  old. 
he  took  unto  himself  a  wife"  (then  turning  the 
page  he  continued)  "three  hundred  cubits  in 
length,  fifty  cubits  in  width,  and  thirty  cubits  in 
depth,  and  within  and  without  besmeared  with 
pitch."  The  story  seemed  a  little  strong,  but  he 
could  not  doubt  the  Bible,  and  after  reading  it 
once  more  and  reflecting  a  moment,  he  turned  to 
the  startled  assemblage  with  these  remarks: 
"My  beloved  brethren,  this  is  the  first  time  in 
the  history  of  my  life  that  my  attention  has  been 
called  to  this  important  passage  of  the  Scriptures, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  one  of  the  most 
forcible  illustrations  of  that  grand  eternal  truth, 
that  the  nature  of  woman  is  exceedingly  difficult 
to  comprehend." 


POLITE 
In  her  "Abandoning  an  Adopted  Farm,"  Miss 
Kate  Sanborn  tells  of  her  annoyance  at  being 
besieged  by  agents,  reporters  and  curiositv 
seekers.  She  says:  "I  was  so  perpetually  har- 
assed that  1  dreaded  to  see  a  stranger  approach 
with  an  air  of  business.  The  other  day  I  was 
just  starting  out  for  a  drive  when  I  noticed  the 
usual  stranger  hurrying  on.  Putting  my  head 
1^9 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

out  of  the  carriage,  I  said  in  a  petulant  and  weary 
tone,  'Do  you  want  to  see  me?'  The  young 
man  stopped,  smiled,  and  replied  courteously, 
'It  gives  me  pleasure  to  look  at  you,  madam, 
but  I  was  going  farther  on.'  " 

A  small  boy  in  Boston,  who  had  unfortunately 
learned  to  swear,  was  rebuked  by  his  father. 
"Who  told  you  that  I  swore?"  asked  the  bad 
little  boy.  "Oh,  a  little  bird  told  me,"  said  tha 
father.  The  boy  stood  and  looked  out  of  the 
window,  scowling  at  some  sparrows  which  were 
scolding  and  chattering.  Then  he  had  a  happy 
thought.  "I  know  who  told  you,"  he  said. 
"It  was  one  of  those sparrows." 

LOST,  STRAYED  OR  STOLEN 

It  is  said  that  when  President  Polk  visited 
Boston  he  was  impressively  received  at  Faneuil 
Hall  Market.  The  clerk  walked  in  front  of  him 
down  the  length  of  the  market,  announcing  in 
loud  tones: 

"Make  way,  gentlemen,  for  the  President  of 
the  United  States!  The  President  of  the  United 
States!     Fellow-citizens,  make  room!" 

The  Chief  had  stepped  into  one  of  the  stalls  to 
look  at  some  game,  when  Mr.  Rhodes  turned 
round  suddenly,  and,  finding  himself  alone, 
suddenly  changed  his  tone  and  exclaimed : 

"My  gracious,  where  has  that  darned  idiot 
got  to?" 

140 


HE  CAME  TO  PAY 

The  editor  sat  with  his  head  in  his  hands 

And  his  elbows  at  rest  on  his  knees; 
He  was  tired  of  the  ever-increasing  demands 

On  his  time,  and  he  panted  for  ease. 
The  clamor  for  copy  was  scorned  with  a  sneer, 

And  he  sighed  in  the  lowest  of  tones : 
"Won't  somebody  come  with  a  dollar  to  chee'- 

The  heart  of  Emanuel  Jones?" 

Just  then  on  the  stairway  a  footstep  was  heard 

And  a  rap-a-tap  loud  at  the  door, 
And   the   flickering    hope   that    had    been    long 
deferred 

Blazed  up  like  a  beacon  once  more; 
And  there  entered  a  man  with  a  cynical  smile 

That  was  fringed  with  a  stubble  of  red, 
Who  remarked,  as  he  tilted  a  sorry  old  tile 

To  the  back  of  an  average  head: 

"I  have  come  here  to  pay" — Here  the  editor  cried, 

"You're  as  welcome  as  flowers  in  spring! 
Sit  down  in  this  easy  armchair  by  my  side, 

And  excuse  me  awhile  till  I  bring 
A  lemonade  dashed  with  a  little  old  wine 

And  a  dozen  cigars  of  the  best. 
Ah!     Here  we  are!     This,  I  assure  you,  i6  fine; 

Help  yourself,  most  desirable  guest." 
141 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

The  visitor  drank  with  a  relish,  and  smoked 

Till  his  face  wore  a  satisfied  glow, 
And  the  editor,  beaming  with  merriment,  jokM 

In  a  joyous,  spontaneous  flow; 
And  then,  when  the  stock  of  refreshments  was 
gone, 

His  guest  took  occasion  to  say, 
In  accents  distorted  somewhat  by  a  yawn, 

"My  errand  up  here  is  to  pay " 

But  the  generous  scribe,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

Put  a  stop  to  the  speech  of  his  guest, 
And  brought  in  a  melon,  the  finest  the  land 

Ever  bore  on  its  generous  breast; 
And  the  visitor,  wearing  a  singular  grin, 

Seized  the  heaviest  half  of  the  fruit, 
And  the  juice,  as  it  ran  in  a  stream  from  his  chin,. 

Washed  the  mud  of  the  pike  from  his  boot. 

Then,  mopping  his  face  on  a  favorite  sheet 

Which  the  scribe  had  laid  carefully  by, 
The  visitor  lazily  rose  to  his  feet 

With  the  dreariest  kind  of  a  sigh, 
And  he  said,  as  the  editor  sought  his  address 

In  his  books  to  discover  his  due: 
"I  came  here  to  pay — my  respects  to  the  press, 

And  to  borrow  a  dollar  of  you!" 
Andrew  V.  Kelley  ("Parmenas  Mix"). 


W 


A  GENTLE  COMPLAINT 

P.  T.  Barnum,  Esq.  Fairfield,  Conn. 

Dear  Sir:  We  have  a  large,  soiled  Asiatic 
elephant  visiting  us  now,  which  we  suspect 
belongs  to  you.  His  skin  is  a  misfit,  and  he  keeps 
moving  his  trunk  from  side  to  side  nervously. 
If  you  have  missed  an  elephant  answering  to 
this  description,  please  come  up  and  take  hin; 
away,  as  we  have  no  use  for  him.  An  elephant 
on  a  place  so  small  as  ours  is  more  of  a  trouble 
than  a  convenience.  I  have  endeavored  to 
frighten  him  away,  but  he  does  not  seem  at  all 
timid,  and  my  wife  and  I,  assisted  by  our  hired 
man,  tried  to  push  him  out  of  the  yard,  but  our 
efforts  were  unavailing.  He  has  made  our  home 
his  own  now  for  some  days,  and  he  has  become 
quite  de  trop.  We  do  not  mind  him  so  much  in 
the  daytime,  for  he  then  basks  mostly  on  the 
lawn  and  plays  with  the  children  (to  whom  he 
has  greatly  endeared  himself),  but  at  night  he 
comes  up  and  lays  his  head  on  our  piazza,  and 
his  deep  and  stertorous  breathing  keeps  my  wife 
awake.  I  feel  as  though  I  were  entitled  to  some 
compensation  for  his  keep.  He  is  a  large  though 
not  fastidious  eater,  and  he  has  destroyed  somt, 
of  my  plants  by  treading  on  them ;  and  he  also 
leaned  against  our  woodhouse.  My  neighbor — • 
who  is  something  of  a  wag — says  I  have  a  lien  on 
his  trunk  for  the  amount  of  his  board;  but  that, 
of  course,  is  only  pleasantry.  Your  immediate 
Attention  will  oblige.  Simeon  Ford. 

14S 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  OYSTERMAN 

It  was  a  tall  3'oung  oysterman  lived  by  the  river- 
side, 

His  shop  was  just  upon  the  bank,  his  boat  was  on 
the  tide; 

The  daughter  of  a  fisherman,  that  was  so  straight 
and  slim, 

Lived,  over  on  the  other  bank,  right  opposite  to 
him. 

It  was  the  pensive  oysterman  that  saw  a  lovely 
maid, 

Upon  a  moonlight  evening,  a-sitting  in  the  shade 

He  saw  her  wave  a  handkerchief,  as  much  as  ii 
to  say. 

"I'm  wide  awake,  young  oysterman,  and  all  the 
folks  away." 

Then  up  arose  the  oysterman,  and  to  himself  said 

he, 
"I  guess  I'll  leave  the  skiff  at  home,  for  fear  that 

folks  should  see; 
I  read  it  in  the  story-book,  that,  for  to  kiss  his 

dear, 
Leander  swam  the  Hellespont,  and  I  will  swim 

this   here." 
And  he  has  leaped  into  the  waves,  and  crossed 

the  shining  stream, 
And  he  has  clambered  up  the  bank,   all  in  the 

moonlight   gleam ; 
144 


The   Ballad  of  the  Oysterman 

Oh,  there  are  kisses  sweet  as  dew,  and  words  as 

soft   as  rain — 
But  they  have  heard  her  father's  step,  and  in  he 

leaps   again! 

(  hit  spoke  the  ancient  fisherman  :  "Oh,  what  was 
that,  my  daughter  ? ' ' 
'    ['was  nothing  but  a  pebble,    sir,  I  threw  into 

the  water." 
"And  what  is  that,   pray  tell  me,  love,     that 

paddles    off    so    fast?" 
"It's  nothing  but  a  porpoise,   sir,  that's   been, 
a-swimming  past." 

Out  spoke  the  ancient  fisherman:  "Now,  bring 
me  my  harpoon! 

I'll  get  into  my  fishing-boat,  and  fix  the  fellow 
soon." 

Down  fell  that  pretty  innocent,  as  falls  a  snow- 
white  lamb; 

Her  hair  drooped  round  her  pallid  cheeks,  like 
seaweed   on  a  clam. 

Alas!  for  those  two  loving  ones!  she  waked  not 

from  her  swound, 
And  he  was  taken  with  the  cramp,  and  in  the 

waves  was  drowned; 
But  Fate  has  metamorphosed  them,  in  pity  of 

their  woe, 
And  now  they  keep  an  oyster  shop  for  mermaids 

down     below. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 
145 


MARIETTA  HOLLEY 

A  PLEASURE  EXERTI  JN 

Wal,  the  very  next  mornin'  Josiah  got  up  with 
a  new  idee  in  his  head.  And  he  broached  it  tc 
me  to  the  breakfast  table.  They  have  been 
havin'  sights  of  pleasure  exertions  here  to  Jones 
ville  lately.  Every  week  a'most  they  would  go 
off  on  a  exertion  after  pleasure,  and  Josiah  was 
all  up  on  end  to  go,  too. 

That  man  is  a  well-principled  man  as  I  ever 
see,  but  if  he  had  his  head  he  would  be  worse 
than  any  young  man  I  ever  see  to  foller  up 
picnics  and  4th  of  Julys  and  camp-meetin's  and 
all  pleasure  exertions.  But  I  don't  encourage 
him  in  it.  I  have  said  to  him  time  and  again: 
"There  is  a  time  for  everything,  Josiah  Allen, 
and  after  anybody  has  lost  all  their  teeth  and 
every  mite  of  hair  on  the  top  of  their  head,  it  is 
time  for  'em  to  stop  goin'  to  pleasure  exertions." 

But  good  land!  I  might  jest  as  well  talk  to 
the  wind!  If  that  man  should  get  to  be  as  old 
as  Mr.  Methusler,  and  be  goin'  on  a  thousand 
years  old,  he  would  prick  up  his  ears  if  he  should 
hear  of  a  exertion.  All  summer  long  that  man 
has  beset  me  to  go  to  'em,  for  he  wouldn't  go 
without  me.  Old  Bunker  Hill  himself  hain't 
any  sounder  in  principle  than  Josiah  Allen,  and 
146 


A  Pleasure  Exertion 

I  have  had  to  work  head-work  to  make  excuses 
and  quell  him  down.  But  last  week  they  was 
goin'  to  have  one  out  on  the  lake,  on  a  island, 
and  that  man  sot  his  foot  down  that  go  he  would. 

We  was  to  the  breakfast  table  a-talkin'  it  over, 
and  says  I: 

"I  shan't  go,  for  I  am  afraid  of  big  water, 
anyway." 

Says  Josiah:  "You  are  jest  as  liable  to  be 
killed  in  one  place  as  another." 

Says  I,  with  a  almost  frigid  air  as  I  passed 
him  his  coffee,  "Mebee  I  shall  be  drounded  on 
dry  land,  Josiah  Allen,  but  I  don't  believe  it." 

Says  he,  in  a  complainin'  tone:  "I  can't  get 
you  started  onto  a  exertion  for  pleasure  anyway." 
Says  I,  in  a  almost  eloquent  way:  "I  don't 
believe  in  makin'  such  exertions  after  pleasure. 
As  I  have  told  you  time  and  agin,  I  don't  believe 
in  chasin'  of  her  up.  Let  her  come  of  her  own 
free  will.  You  can't  ketch  her  by  chasin'  after 
her  no  more  than  you  can  fetch  up  a  shower  in 
a,  drowth  by  goin'  outdoors  and  runnin'  after  a 
cloud  up  in  the  heavens  above  you.  Set  down 
and  be  patient,  and  when  it  gets  ready  the 
refreshin'  raindrops  will  begin  to  fall  without 
none  of  your  help.  And  it  is  jest  so  with  pleasure, 
Josiah  Allen;  you  may  chase  her  up  over  all  the 
oceans  and  big  mountains  of  the  earth,  and  she 
will  keep  ahead  of  you  all  the  time ;  but  set  down 
and  not  fatigue  yourself  a-thinkin  about'  her, 
and  like  as  not  she  will  come  right  into  vour 
house  unbeknown  to  you." 
147 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

"Wal,"  says  he,  "  I  guess  I'll  have  another 
griddle-cake,  Samantha." 

And  as  he  took  it  and  poured  the  maple  syrup 
over  it,    he  added  gently  but  firmly: 

"I  shall  go,  Samantha,  to  this  exertion,  and  I 
should  be  glad  to  have  you  present  at  it,  because 
it  seems  jest  to  me  as  if  I  should  fall  overboard 
during'  the  day." 

Men  are  deep.  Now  that  man  knew  that  no 
amount  of  religious  preachin'  could  stir  me  up 
like  that  one  speech.  For  though  I  hain't  no 
hand  to  coo.  and  don't  encourage  him  in  bein' 
spoony  at  all,  he  knows  that  I  am  wrapped 
almost  completely  up  in  him.     I  went. 

Wal,  the  day  before  the  exertion  Kellup  Cobb 
come  into  our  house  of  a  errant,  and  I  asked  him 
if  he  was  goin'  to  the  exertion;  and  he  said  he 
would  like  to  go,  but  he  dassent. 

"Dassent!"  says  I.     "Why  dassent  you?" 

"Why,"  says  he,  "how  would  the  rest  of  the 
wimmin  round  Jonesville  feel  if  I  shoiild  pick  out 
one  woman  and  wait  on  her  ? "  Says  he  bitterly : 
"I  hain't  perfect,  but  I  hain't  such  a  cold- 
blooded rascal  as  not  to  have  any  regard  for 
wimmen's  feelin's.  1  hain't  no  heart  to  spile 
all  the  comfort  of  the  day  for  ten  or  a  dozen 
wimmen." 

"Why,"  says  I,  in  a  dry  tone,  "one  woman 
would  be  happy,  accordin'  to  your  tell." 

"Yes,  one  woman  .happy,  and  ten  or  fifteen 
gauled — bruised  in  the  tenderest  place." 

"On  their  heads?"  says  I,  inquirin'ly. 
148 


A  Pleasure  Exertion 

"No,"  says  he,  "their  hearts.  All  the  girls 
have  probable  had  more  or  less  hopes  that  I 
would  invite  'em — make  a  choice  of  'em.  But 
when  the  blow  was  struck,  when  I  had  passed 
'trn  by  and  invited  some  other,  some  happier 
woman,  how  would  them  slighted  ones  feel .' 
How  do  you  s'pose  they  would  enjoy  the  day, 
seein'  me  with  another  woman,  and  they  droopin' 
round  without  me?  That  is  the  reason,  Josiah 
Allen's  wife,  that  I  dassent  go.  It  hain't  the 
keepin'  of  my  horse  through  the  day  that  stops 
me.  For  I  could  carry  a  quart  of  oats  and  a 
little  jag  of  hay  in  the  bottom  of  the  buggy.  If 
I  had  concluded  to  pick  out  a  girl  and  go,  I  had 
got  it  all  fixed  out  in  my  mind  how  I  would 
manage.  I  had  thought  it  over,  while  I  was 
ondecided  and  duty  was  a-strugglin'  with  me. 
But  I  was  made  to  see  where  the  right  way 
for  me  lay,  and  I  am  goin'  to  foller  it.  Joe 
Purday  is  goin'  to  have  my  horse,  and  give  me 
seven  shillin's  for  the  use  of  it  and  its  keepin'. 
He  came  to  hire  it  just  before  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  I  hadn't  ort  to  go. 

' '  Of  course  it  is  a  cross  to  me.  But  I  am  willin* 
to  bear  crosses  for  the  fair  sect.  Why,"  says  he, 
a-commin'  out  in  a  open,  generous  way,  "I  would 
be  willin',  if  necessary  for  the  general  good  of  the 
fair  sect — I  would  be  willin'  to  sacrifice  ten  cents 
for  em',  or  pretty  nigh  that,  I  wish  so  well  to'  em. 
I  hain't  that  enemy  to  'em  that  they  think  I  am. 
I  can't  marry  'em  all,  Heaven  knows  I  can't,  but 
1  wish  'em  well." 

140 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

"Wal,"  says  I,  "I  guess  my  dishwater  is  hot; 
it  must  be  pretty  near  bilin'  by  this  time." 

And  he  took  the  hint  and  started  off.  I  see 
it  wouldn't  do  no  good  to  argue  with  him  that 
wimmen  didn't  worship  him.  For  when  a  feller 
once  gets  it  into  his  head  that  female  wimmen  are 
all  after  him,  you  might  jest  as  well  dispute  the 
wind  as  argue  with  him.  You  can't  convince 
him  nor  the  wind — neither  of  'em — so  what's  the 
use  of  wastin'  breath  on  'em  ?  And  I  didn't  want 
to  spend  a  extra  breath  that  day  anyway, 
know  in'  I  had  such  a  hard  day's  work  in  front 
of  me,  a-finishin'  cookin'  up  provisions  for  the 
exertion,  and  gettin'  things  done  up  in  the  house 
so  I  could  leave  'em  for  all  day. 

We  had  got  to  start  about  the  middle  of  the 
night ;  for  the  lake  was  fifteen  miles  from  Jones- 
ville,  and  the  o!d  mare's  bein'  so  slow,  we  had 
got  to  start  an  hour  or  two  ahead  of  the  rest.  1 
told  Josiali  in  the  first  on't,  that  I  had  just  as 
lives  set  up  all  night  as  to  be  routed  out  at  two 
o'clock.  But  he  was  so  animated  and  happy 
at  the  idee  of  goin'  that  he  looked  on  the  bright 
side  of  everything,  and  he  said  that  we  would  go 
to  bed  before  dark,  and  get  as  much  sleep  as  we 
commonly  did.  So  we  went  to  bed  the  sun  an 
hour  high.  And  I  was  truly  tired  enough  to  lay 
down,  for  I  had  worked  dretful  hard  that  day — al- 
most be)'ond  my  strength.  But  we  hadn't  more'n 
got  settled  down  into  the  bed,  when  we  heard 
a  buggy  and  a  single  wagon  stop  at  the  gate,  and 
I  got  up  and  peeked  through  the  window,  and  I 
150 


A  Pleasure  Exertion 

see  it  was  visitors  come  to  spend  the  evenin*. 
Elder  Bamber  and  his  family,  and  Deacon 
Dobbinses'  folks. 

Josiah  vowed  that  he  wouldn't  stir  one  step 
Dut  of  that  bed  that  night.  But  I  argued  with 
him  pretty  sharp,  while  I  was  throwin'  en  my 
clothes,  and  I  finally  got  him  started  up.  I 
hain't  deceitful,  but  I  thought  if  I  got  my  clothes 
all  on  before  they  came  in  I  wouldn't  tell  'em 
that  I  had  been  to  bed  that  time  of  day.  And 
I  did  get  all  dressed  up,  even  to  my  handkerchief 
pin.  And  I  guess  they  had  been  there  as  much 
p.;  ten  minutes  before  I  thought  that  I  hadn't 
took  my  nightcap  off.  They  looked  dreadful 
carious  at  me,  and  I  felt  awful  meachin'.  But 
I  jest  ketched  it  off,  and  never  said  nothin'. 
But  when  Josiah  came  out  of  the  bedroom  with 
what  little  hair  he  has  got  standin'  out  in  every 
direction,  no  two  hairs  a-layin'  the  same  way, 
and  one  of  his  galluses  a-hangin'  most  to  the 
floor  under  his  best  coat,  I  up  and  told  'em.  I 
thought  mebby  they  wouldn't  stay  long. 
But  Deacon  Dobbinses'  folks  seemed  to  be 
all  waked  up  on  the  subject  of  religion,  and 
they  proposed  we  should  turn  it  into  a  kind 
of  a  conference  meetin';  so  they  never  went 
home  till  after  ten  o'clock. 

It  was  'most  eleven  when  Josiah  and  me  got  to 
bed  agin.  And  then  jest  as  I  was  gettin'  into  a 
drowse,  I  heered  the  cat  in  the  buttery,  and  I 
got  up  to  let  her  out.  And  that  roused  Josiah 
up,  and  he  thought  he  heered  the  cattle  in  the 
151 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

garden,  and  he  got  up  and  went  out.  And  there 
we  was  a-marchin'  round  'most  all  night. 

And  if  we  would  get  into  a  nap,  Josiah  would 
think  it  was  mornin'  and  he  would  start  up  and 
go  out  to  look  at  the  clock.  He  seemed  so  afraid 
we  would  be  belated  and  not  get  to  that  exertion 
in  time.  And  there  we  was  on  our  feet  'most 
all  night.  I  lost  myself  once,  for  I  dream pt  that 
Josiah  was  a-drowndin',  and  Deacon  Dobbins 
was  on  the  shore  a-prayin'  for  him.  It  started 
me  so  that  I  jist  ketched  hold  of  Josiah 
and  hollered.  It  skairt  him  awfully,  and 
says  he,  "What  does  ail  you,  Samantha? 
I  hain't  been  asleep  before  to-night,  and  now 
you  have  rousted  me  up  for  good.  I  wonder 
what  time  it  is!" 

And  then  he  got  out  of  bed  again  and  went 
and  looked  at  the  clock.  It  was  half-past  one, 
and  he  said  he  "didn't  believe  we  had  better  go 
to  sleep  again,  for  fear  we  would  be  too  late  for 
the  exertion,  and  he  wouldn't  miss  that  for 
nothin'." 

"Exertion!"  says  I,  in  a  awful  cold  tone.  "I 
should  think  we  had  had  exertion  enough  for 
one  spell." 

But  as  bad  and  wore  out  as  Josiah  felt  bodily, 
he  was  all  animated  in  his  mind  about  what  a 
good  time  he  was  a-goin'  to  have.  He  acted 
foolish,  and  I  told  him  so.  I  wanted  to  wear  my 
brown-and-black  gingham,  and  a  shaker,  but 
Josiah  insisted  that  I  should  wear  a  new  lawn 
dress  that  he  had  brought  me  home  as  a  present 
132 


A  Pleasure  Exertion 

and  I  had  jest  got  made  up.  So  jest  to  please 
him,  I  put  it  on,  and  my  best  bonnet. 

And  that  man,  all  I  could  do  and  say,  would 
put  on  a  pair  of  pantaloons  I  had  been  a-makin' 
for  Thomas  Jefferson.  They  was  gettin'  up  a 
milatary  company  to  Jonesville,  and  these  panta- 
loons was  blue,  with  a  red  stripe  down  the  sides — 
a  kind  of  uniform.  Josiah  took  a  awful  fancy 
to  'em,  and  says  he: 

"I  will  wear  'em,  Samantha;  they  look  so 
dressy." 

Says  I:  "They  hain't  hardly  done.  I  was 
goin'  to  stitch  that  red  stripe  on  the  left  leg  on 
again.  They  ain't  finished  as  they  ort  to  be, 
and  I  would  not  wear  'em.     It  looks  vain  in  you." 

Says  he:  "I  will  wear  'em,  Samantha.  I  will 
be  dressed  up  for  once." 

I  didn't  contend  with  him.  Thinks  I :  we 
are  makin'  fools  of  ourselves  by  goin'  at  all,  and 
if  he  wants  to  make  a  little  bigger  fool  of  himself 
by  wearin'  them  blue  pantaloons,  I  won't  stand 
in  his  light.  And  then  I  had  got  some  machine 
oil  onto  'em,  so  I  felt  that  I  had  got  to  wash  'em, 
anyway,  before  Thomas  J.  took  'em  to  wear. 
So  he  put  'em  on. 

I  had  good  vittlfes,  and  a  sight  of  'em.  The 
basket  wouldn't  hold  'em  all,  so  Josiah  had  to  put 
a  bottle  of  red  rossberry  jell  into  the  pocket  of 
his  dress-coat,  and  lots  of  other  little  things, 
such  as  spoons  and  knives  and  forks,  in  his 
pantaloons  and  breast  pockets.  He  looked  like 
Captain  Kidd  armed  up  to  the  teeth,  and  I  told 
153 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

him  so.  But  good  land!  he  would  have  carried 
a  knife  in  his  mouth  if  I  had  asked  him  to,  he 
felt  so  neat  about  goin',  and  boasted  so  on  what 
a  splendid  exertion  it  was  goin'  to  be. 

We  got  to  the  lake  about  eight  o'clock,  for  the 
old  mare  went  slow.  We  was  about  the  first 
ones  there,  but  they  kep'  a-comin',  and  before 
ten  o'clock  we  all  got  there. 

The  young  folks  made  up  their  minds  they 
would  stay  and  eat  their  dinner  in  a  grove  on 
the  mainland.  But  the  majority  of  the  old  folks 
thought  it  was  best  to  go  and  set  our  tables 
where  we  laid  out  to  in  the  first  place.  Josiah 
seemed  to  be  the  most  rampant  of  any  of  the 
company  about  goin'.  He  said  he  shouldn't  eat 
a  mouthful  if  he  didn't  eat  it  on  that  island.  He 
said  what  was  the  use  of  going  to  a  pleasure 
exertion  at  all  if  you  didn't  try  to  take  all  the 
pleasure  you  could.  So  about  twenty  old  fools 
of  us  sot  sail  for  the  island. 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  from  the  first  on't  to 
face  trouble,  so  it  didn't  put  me  out  so  much 
when  Deacon  Dobbins,  in  gettin'  into  the  boat, 
stepped  onto  my  new  lawn  dress  and  tore  a  hole 
in  it  as  big  as  my  two  hands,  and  ripped  it  half 
offen  the  waist.  But  Josiah  havin'  felt  so  ani- 
mated and  tickled  about  the  exertion,  it  worked 
him  up  awfully  when,  jest  after  we  had  got  well 
out  onto  the  lake,  the  wind  took  his  hat  off  and 
blew  it  away  out  onto  the  lake.  He  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  look  so  pretty  that  day  that  it 
worked  him  up  awfully.  And  then  the  sun  beat 
154 


A  Pleasure  Exertion 

down  onto  him ;  and  if  he  had  had  any  hair  onto 
his  head  it  would  have  seemed  more  shady. 

But  I  did  the  best  I  could  by  him.  I  stood  by 
him  and  pinned  on  his  red  bandanna  handker- 
chief onto  his  head.  But  as  I  was  a-ftxin'  it  on, 
I  see  there  was  suthin'  more  than  mortihcation 
ailed  him.  The  lake  was  rough  and  the  boat 
rocked,  and  I  see  he  was  beginning  to  be  awful 
sick.  He  looked  deathly.  Pretty  soon  I  felt 
bad,  too.  Oh!  the  wretchedness  of  that  time. 
I  have  enjoyed  poor  health  considerable  in  my 
life,  but  never  did  I  enjoy  so  much  sickness  in  so 
short  a  time  as  I  did  on  that  pleasure  exertion  to 
that  island.  I  s'pose  our  bein'  up  all  night 
a'most  made  it  worse.  When  we  reached  the 
island  we  was  both  weak  as  cats. 

I  sot  right  down  on  a  stun  and  held  my  head 
for  a  spell,  for  it  did  seem  as  if  it  would  split  open. 
After  awhile  I  staggered  up  onto  my  feet,  and 
finally  I  got  so  I  could  walk  straight  and  sense 
things  a  little;  though  it  was  tejus  work  to  walk 
anyway,  for  we  had  landed  on  a  sand-bar,  and 
the  sand  was  so  deep  it  was  all  we  could  do  to 
wade  through  it,  and  it  was  as  hot  as  hot  ashes 
ever  was. 

Then  I  began  to  take  the  things  out  of  my 
dinner-basket.  The  butter  had  all  melted,  so 
we  had  to  dip  it  out  with  a  spoon.  And  a  lot  of 
water  had  washed  over  the  side  of  the  boat,  so 
my  pies  and  tarts  and  delicate  cakes  and  cookies 
looked  awful  mixed  up.  But  no  worse  than  the 
rest  of  the  company's  did. 
165 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

But  we  did  the  best  we  could,  and  the  chicken 
and  cold  meats  bein'  more  solid,  had  held  together 
quite  well,  so  there  was  some  pieces  of  it  con- 
side'able  hull,  though  it  was  all  very  wet  and 
soppy.  But  we  separated  'em  out  as  well  as  we 
could,  and  begun  to  make  preparations  to  eat. 
We  didn't  feel  so  animated  about  eatin'  as  we 
should  if  we  hadn't  been  so  sick  to  our  stomachs. 
But  we  felt  as  if  we  must  hurry,  for  the  man  that 
owned  the  boat  said  he  knew  it  would  rain  before 
night  by  the  way  the  sun  scalded. 

There  wasn't  a  man  or  a  woman  there  but 
what  the  presperation  and  sweat  jest  poured 
down  their  faces.  We  was  a  haggard  and 
melancholy  lookin'  set.  There  was  a  piece  of 
woods  a  little  way  off,  but  it  was  up  quite  a  rise 
cf  ground,  and  there  wasn't  one  of  us  but  what 
had  the  rheumatiz  more  or  less.  We  made  up 
a  fire  on  the  sand,  though  it  seemed  as  if  it  was 
hot  enough  to  steep  tea  and  coffee  as  it  was. 

After  we  got  the  fire  started,  I  histed  a  umberell 
and  sot  down  under  it  and  fanned  myself  hard, 
for  I  was  afraid  of  a  sunstroke. 

Wal,  I  guess  I  had  set  there  ten  minutes  or 
more,  when  all  of  a  sudden  I  thought,  Where  is 
Josiah?  I  hadn't  seen  him  since  we  had  got 
there.  I  riz  up  and  asked  the  company,  almost 
wildly,  if  they  had  seen  my  companion,  Josiah. 

They  said,  No,  they  hadn't. 

But    Celestine    Wilkin's   little    girl,    who    had 
come  with  her  grandpa  and  grandma  Gowdy* 
spoke  up,   and  says  she: 
156 


A  Pleasure  Exertion 

"I  seen  him  goin'  off  toward  the  woods.  He 
acted  dretful  strange,  too;  he  seemed  to  be  a 
walkin'  off  sideways." 

"Had  the  sufferin'  he  had  undergone  made 
him  delerious?"  says  I  to  myself;  and  then  I 
started  off  on  the  run  toward  the  woods,  and 
old  Miss  Bobbet,  and  Miss  Gowdy,  and  Sister 
Bamber,  and  Deacon  Dobbinses'  wife  all  rushed 
after  me. 

Oh,  the  agony  of  them  two  or  three  minutes! 
my  mind  so  distracted  with  fourbodin's,  and  the 
presperation  and  sweat  a-pourin'  down.  But  all 
of  a  sudden,  on  the  edge  of  the  woods,  we  found 
him.  Miss  Gowdy,  weighin'  a  little  less  than 
me,  mebby  one  hundred  pounds  or  so,  had 
got  a  little  ahead  of  me.  He  sot  backed  up 
against  a  tree  in  a  awful  cramped  position, 
with  his  left  leg  under  him.  He  looked 
dretful  uncomfortabl*.  But  when  Miss  Gowdy 
hollered  out:  "Oh,  here  you  be!  We  have 
been  skairt  about  you.  What  is  the  matter?" 
he  smiled  a  dretful  sick  smile,  and  says  he: 
"Oh,  I  thought  I  would  come  out  here  and 
meditate  a  spell.  It  was  always  a  real  treat 
to  me  to  meditate." 

Just  then  I  come  up  a-pantin'  for  breath,  and 
as  the  wimmen  all  turned  to  face  me,  Josiah 
scowled  at  me  and  shook  his  fist  at  them  four 
wimmen,  and  made  the  most  mysterious  motions 
of  his  hands  toward  'em.  But  the  minute  they 
turned  round  he  smiled  in  a  sickish  way,  and 
pretended  to  go  to  whistlin'. 
157 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

Says  I,  "What  is  the  matter,  Josiah  Allen? 
What  are  you  off  here  for?" 

"I  am  a-meditatin',  Samantha." 

Says  I,  "Do  you  come  down  and  jine  the  com- 
pany this  minute,  Josiah  Allen.  You  was  in  a 
awful  takin'  to  come  with  'em,  and  what  will 
they  think  to  see  you  act  so?" 

The  wimmen  happened  to  be  a-lookin'  the 
other  way  for  a  minute,  and  he  looked  at  me 
as  if  he  would  take  my  head  off,  and  made  the 
strangest  motions  toward  'em;  but  the  minute 
they  looked  at  him  he  would  pretend  to  smile 
— that  deathly  smile. 

Says  I,  "Come,  Josiah  Allen,  we're  goin'  to 
get  dinner  right  away,  for  we  are  afraid  it  will 
rain." 

"Oh,  wal,"  says  he,  "a  little  rain,  more  or  less, 
hain't  a-goin'  to  hender  a  man  from  meditatin'." 

I  was  wore  out,  and  says  I,  "Do  you  stop 
meditatin'  this  minute,  Josiah  Allen!" 

Says  he,  "I  won't  stop,  Samantha.  I  let  you 
have  your  way  a  good  deal  of  the  time;  but 
when  I  take  it  into  my  head  to  meditate,  you 
hain't  a-goin'  to  break  it  up." 

Jest  at  that  minute  they  called  to  me  from  the 
shore  to  come  that  minute  to  find  some  of  my 
dishes.  And  we  had  to  start  off.  But  oh!  the 
gloom  of  my  mind  that  was  added  to  the  lameness 
of  my  body.  Them  strange  motions  and 
looks  of  Josiah  wore  on  me.  Had  the  suffering 
of  the  night,  added  to  the  trials  of  the  day. 
made  him  crazy?  I  thought  more'n  as  likely 
158 


A  Pleasure  Exertion 

as  not  I  had  got  a  luny  on  my  hands  for  the 
rest  of  my  days. 

And  then,  oh,  how  the  sun  did  scald  down  onto 
me,  and  the  wind  took  the  smoke  so  into  my  face 
that  there  wasn't  hardly  a  dry  eye  in  my  head. 
And  then  a  perfect  swarm  of  yellow  wasps  lit 
down  onto  our  vittles  asquickas  we  laid  'em  down 
so  you  couldn't  touch  a  thing  without  runnin'  a 
chance  to  be  stung.  Oh,  the  agony  of  that  time! 
the  distress  of  that  pleasure  exertion!  But  I 
kep'  to  work,  and  when  we  had  got  dinner  most 
ready  I  went  back  to  call  Josiah  again.  Old 
Miss  Bobbet  said  she  would  go  with  me,  for  she 
thought  she  see  a  wild  turnip  in  the  woods  there, 
and  her  Shakespeare  had  a  awful  cold,  and  she 
would  try  to  dig  one  to  give  him.  So  we  started 
up  the  hill  again.  He  sot  in  the  same  position, 
all  huddled  up,  with  his  leg  under  him,  as  uncom- 
fortable a  lookin'  creeter  as  I  ever  see.  But 
when  we  both  stood  in  front  of  him,  he  pre- 
tended to  look  careless  and  happy,  and  smiled 
that  sick  smile. 

Says  I,  "Come,  Josiah  Allen;  dinner  is 
ready." 

"Oh,  I  hain't  hungry,"  says  he.  "The  table 
will  probable  be  full.     I  had  jest  as  lieves  wait." 

"Table  full! "  says  I.  "You  know  jest  as  well 
as  I  do  that  we  are  eatin'  on  the  ground.  Do 
you  come  and  eat  your  dinner  this  minute." 

"Yes,  do  come,"  says  Miss  Bobbet;  "we  can't 
get  along  without  you!" 

"Oh!"  says  he,  with  a  ghastly  smile,  pretend- 
169 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

ing  to  joke,  "I  have  got  plenty  to  eat  here — 1 
can  eat  muskeeters." 

The  air  was  black  with  'em,  I  couldn't  deny  it. 

"The  muskeeters  will  eat  you,  more  likely," 
says  I.  "Look  at  your  face  and  hands;  they 
are  all  covered  with  'em." 

"Yes,  they  have  eat  considerable  of  a  dinner 
out  of  me,  but  I  don't  begrech  'em.  I  hain't 
small  enough,  nor  mean  enough,  I  hope,  to 
begrech  'em  one  good  meal." 

Miss  Bobbet  started  off  in  search  of  her  wild 
turnip,  and  after  she  had  got  out  of  sight  Josiah 
whispered  to  me  with  a  savage  look  and  a  tone 
sharp  as  a  sharp  ax. : 

"Can't  you  bring  forty  or  fifty  more  wimmen 
up  here?  You  couldn't  come  here  a  minute, 
could  you,  without  a  lot  of  other  wimmen  tight 
to  your  heels?" 

I  begun  to  see  daylight,  and  after  Miss  Bobber 
had  got  her  wild  turnip  and  some  spignut,  I  made 
some  excuse  to  send  her  on  ahead,  and  then 
Josiah  told  me  all  about  why  he  had  gone  off 
by  himself  alone,  and  why  he  had  been  a-settin' 
in  such  a  curious  position  all  the  time  since  we 
had  come  in  sight  of  him. 

It  seems  he  had  sot  down  on  that  bottle  of 
rossberry  jell.  That  red  stripe  on  the  side  wasn't 
hardly  finished,  as  I  said,  and  I  hadn't  fastened 
my  thread  properly,  so  when  he  got  to  pullin'  at 
'em  to  try  to  wipe  off  the  jell,  the  thread  started, 
and  bein'  sewed  on  a  machine,  that  seam  jest 
ripped  from  top  to  bottom.  That  was  what  he 
160 


A  Pleasure  Exertion 

had  walked  off  sideways  toward  the  woods  for. 
But  Josiah  Allen's  wife  hain't  one  to  desert  a 
companion  in  distress.  I  pinned  'em  up  as  well 
as  I  could,  and  I  didn't  say  a  word  to  hurt  his 
feelin's,  only  I  jest  said  this  to  him,  as  1 
fixin'  'em — I  fastened  my  gray  eye  firmly,  and 
almost  sternly  onto  him,  and  says  I : 

"Josiah  Allen,  is  this  pleasure?"  Says  I, 
"You  was  determined  to  come." 

"Throw  that  in  my  face  again,  will  you! 
What  if  I  was?  There  goes  a  pin  into  my  leg! 
I  should  think  I  had  suffered  enough  without 
your  stabbin'  of  me  with  pins." 

"Wall,  then,  stand  still,  and  not  be  a-caperin' 
round  so.  How  do  you  s'pose  I  can  do  anything 
with  you  a-tossin'  round  so?" 

"Wall,  don't  be  so  aggrevatin',  then." 

I  fixed  'em  as  well  as  I  could,  but  they  looked 
pretty  bad,  and  there  they  was  all  covered  with 
jell,  too.  What  to  do  I  didn't  know.  But 
finally  I  told  him  I  would  put  my  shawl  on 
him.  So  I  doubled  it  up  corner- ways  as  big  as  I 
could,  so  it  almost  touched  the  ground  behind, 
and  he  walked  back  to  the  table  with  me.  I 
told  him  it  was  best  to  tell  the  company  all 
about  it,  but  he  just  put  his  foot  down  that 
he  wouldn't  and  I  told  him  if  he  wouldn't  that 
he  must  make  his  own  excuses  to  the  company 
about  wearin'  the  shawl.  So  he  told  'em  he 
always  loved  to  wear  summer  shawls;  he 
thought  it  made  a  man  look  so  dressy. 

But  he  looked  as  if  he  would  sink  all  the  time 
l(il 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

he  was  a-sayin'  it.  They  all  looked  dretful 
curious  at  him,  and  he  looked  as  meachin'  as  if 
he  had  stole  sheep — and  meachin 'er — and  he 
never  took  a  minute's  comfort,  nor  I  nuther. 
He  was  sick  all  the  way  back  to  the  shore,  and 
so  was  I.  And  jest  as  we  got  into  our  wagons 
and  started  for  home,  the  rain  began  to  pour 
down.  The  wind  turned  our  old  umberell  inside 
out  in  no  time.  My  lawn  dress  was  most  spiltc, 
before,  and  now  I  give  up  my  bonnet.  And  I 
says  to  Josiah: 

"This  bonnet  and  dress  are  spilte,  Josiah 
Alien,  and  I  shall  have  to  buy  some  new  ones." 

"Wal,  wal!  who  said  you  wouldn't?"  he 
snapped  out. 

But  it  were  on  him.  Oh,  how  the  rain  poured 
down!  Josiah,  havin'  nothin'  but  a  handker- 
chief on  his  head,  felt  it  more  than  I  did.  I  had 
took  a  apron  to  put  on  a-gettin'  dinner,  and  I 
tried  to  make  him  let  me  pin  it  on  his  head. 
But  says  he,  firmly: 

"I  hain't  proud  and  haughty,  Samantha 
but  I  do  feel  above  ridin'  out  with  a  pink 
apron   on   for   a   hat." 

"Wal,  then,"  says  I,  "get  as  wet  as  sop,  is 
you  had  ruther." 

I  didn't  say  no  more,  but  there  we  jest  sot  and 
suffered.  The  rain  poured  down;  the  wind 
howled  at  us;  the  old  mare  went  slow;  the 
rheumatiz  laid  holt  of  both  of  us;  and  the 
thought  of  the  new  bonnet  and  dress  wa? 
a-wearin'  on  Josiah,  I  knew. 
162 


A  Pleasure  Exertion 

There  wasn't  a  house  for  the  first  seven  miles, 
and  after  we  got  there  I  thought  we  wouldn't 
go  in,  for  we  had  got  to  get  home  to  milk  anyway, 
and  we  was  both  as  wet  as  we  could  be.  After  I 
had  beset  him  about  the  apron,  we  didn't  say 
hardly  a  word  for  as  much  as  thirteen  miles  or 
so;  but  1  did  speak  once,  as  he  leaned  forward, 
with  the  rain  drippin'  offen  his  bandanna  hand- 
kerchief onto  his  blue  pantaloons.  I  says  to  him 
in  stern  tones: 

"Is  this  pleasure,  Josiah  Allen?" 

He  give  the  old  mare  a  awful  cut  and  says  he : 
"I'd  like  to  know  what  you  want  to  be  so  aggra- 
vatin'   for?" 

I  didn't  multiply  any  more  words  with  him, 
only  as  we  drove  up  to  our  doorstep,  and  he 
helped  me  out  into  a  mud-puddle,  I  says  to  him : 

"Mebbe  you'll  hear  to  me  another  time,  Josiah 
Allen." 

And  I'll  bet  he  will.  I  hain't  afraid  to  bet  a 
ten-cent  bill  that  that  man  won't  never  open  his 
mouth  to  me  again  about  a  pleasure  exertion. 


A  simple-hearted  and  truly  devout  country 
preacher,  who  had  tasted  but  few  of  the  drinks  of 
the  world,  took  dinner  with  a  high-toned  family, 
where  a  glass  of  milk  punch  was  quietly  set  down 
by  each  plate.  In  silence  and  happiness  this 
new  Vicar  of  Wakefield  quaffed  his  goblet,  and 
then  added,  "Madam,  you  should  daily  thank 
God  for  such  a  good  cow." 
168 


EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN 

THE  DIAMOND  WEDDING 

O  Love!  Love!  Love!     What  times  were  those, 
Long  ere  the  age  of  belles  and  beaux, 
And  Brussels  lace  and  silken  hose, 
When,  in  the  green  Arcadian  close, 
You  married  Psyche  under  the  rose, 

With  only  the  grass  for  bedding! 
Heart  to  heart,  and  hand  to  hand, 
You  followed  Nature's  sweet  command, 
Roaming  lovingly  through  the  land, 

Nor  sighed  for  a  Diamond  Wedding. 

So  have  we  read  in  classic  Ovid, 
How  Hero  watched  for  her  beloved, 

Impassioned  youth,  Leander. 
She  was  the  fairest  of  the  fair, 
And  wrapt  him  round  with  her  golden  hair, 
Whenever  he  landed  cold  and  bare, 
With  nothing  to  eat  and  nothing  to  wear, 

And  wetter  than  any  gander; 
For  Love  was  Love,  and  better  than  money; 
The  slyer  the  theft,  the  sweeter  the  honey; 
And  kissing  was  clover  all  the  world  over 

Wherever  Cupid  might   wander. 
164 


The  Diamond  Wedding 

So  thousands  of  years  have  come  and  gone, 
And  still  the  moon  is  shining  on, 

Still  Hymen's  torch  is  lighted; 
And  hitherto,  in  this  land  of  the  West, 
Most  couples  in  love  have  thought  it  best 
To  follow  the  ancient  way  of  the  rest, 

And   quietly   get   united. 

But  now,  True  Love,  you're  growing  old  — 
Bought  and  sold,  with  silver  and  gold, 
Like  a  house,  or  a  horse  and  carriage! 
Midnight  talks, 
Moonlight  walks, 
The  glance  of  the  eye  and  sweetheart  sigh, 
The  shadowy  haunts,  with  no  one  by, 
I  do  not  wish  to  disparage; 
But  every  kiss 
Has  a  price  for  its  bliss, 
In  the  modern  code  of  marriage; 
And  the  compact  sweet 
Is  not  complete 
Till  the  high  contracting  parties  meet 

Before  the  altar  of  Mammon; 
And  the  bride  must  be  led  to  a  silver  bower 
Where  pearls  and  rubies  fall  in  a  shower 
That  would  frighten  Jupiter  Ammon! 

I    need   not    tell 
How  it  befell, 
(Since  Jenkins  has  told  the  story 
Over  and  over  and  over  again, 
165 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

In  a  style  I  cannot  hope  to  attain, 

And  covered  himself  with  glory!) 
How  it  befell,  one  summer's  day, 
The  king  of  the  Cubans  strolled  this  way — 
King  January's  his  name,  they  say — 
And  fell  in  love  with  the  Princess  May, 

The  reigning  belle  of  Manhattan; 
Nor  how  he  began  to  smirk  and  sue, 
And  dress  as  lovers  who  come  to  woo, 
Or  as  Max  Maretzek  and  Jullien  do, 
When  they  sit  full-bloomed  in  the  ladies'  view, 
And  flourish  the  wondrous  baton. 

He  wasn't  one  of  your  Polish  nobles, 

Whose  presence  their  country  somehow  troubles, 

And  so  our  cities  receive  them; 
Nor  one  of  your  make-believe  Spanish  grandees, 
Who  ply  our  daughters  with  lies  and  candies, 

Until  the  poor  girls  believe  them. 
No,  he  was  no  such  charlatan — 
Count  de  Hoboken  Flash-in-the-pan, 

Full  of  gasconade  and  bravado— 
But  a  regular,  rich  Don  Rataplan, 

Santa  Claus  de  la   Muscovado, 

Senor  Grandissimo  Bastinado. 
His  was  the  rental  of  half  Havana 
And  all  Matanzas;  and  Santa  Ana, 

Rich  as  he  was,  could  hardly  hold 

A  candle  to  light  the  mines  of  gold 
Our  Cuban  owned,  choke-full  of  diggers; 
And  broad  plantations,  that,  in  round  figures, 
Were  stocked  with  at  least  five  thousand  niggers! 
16S 


The  Diamond  Wedding 

"Gather  ye  rosebuds  while  ye  may!" 

The  Senor  swore  to  carry  the  day. 

To  capture  the  beautiful   Princess  May, 

With  his  battery  of  treasure: 
Velvet  and  lace  she  should  not  lack; 
Tiffany,    Haughwout,    Ball    &   Black, 
Genin  and  Stewart  his  suit  should  back, 

And  come  and  go  at  her  pleasure; 
Jet  and  lava — silver  and  gold — 
Garnets — emeralds  rare  to  behold — 
Diamonds — sapphires — wealth    untold — 
All  were  hers,  to  have  and  to  hold : 

Enough  to  fill  a  peck  measure! 

He  didn't  bring  all  his  forces  on 

At  once,  but  like  a  crafty  old  Don, 

Who  many  a  heart  had  fought  and  won, 

Kept  bidding  a  little  higher; 
And  every  time  he  made  his  bid, 
And  what  she  said,  and  all  they  did — 
Twas  written  down, 
For  the  good  of  the  town, 
By  Jeems,  of  The  Daily  Flyer. 

A  coach  and  horses,  you'd  think,  would  buy 
For  the  Don  an  easy  victory; 

But  slowly  our  Princess  yielded. 
A  diamond  necklace  caught  her  eye, 
But  a  wreath  of  pearls  first  made  her  sigh. 
She  knew  the  worth  of  each  maiden  glance, 
And,  like  young  colts,  that  curvet  and  prance, 
She  led  the  Don  a  deuce  of  a  dance, 

In  spite  of  the  wealth  he  wielded. 
167 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

She  stood  such  a  fire  of  silks,  and  laces, 

Jewels  and  gold  dressing-cases, 

And  ruby  brooches,  and  jets  and  pearls, 

That  every  one  of  her  dainty  curls 

Brought  the  price  of  a  hundred  common  girls; 

Folks  thought  the  lass  demented! 
But  at  last  a  wonderful  diamond  ring, 
An  infant  Kohinoor,  did  the  thing, 
And,  sighing  with  love,  or  something  the  same. 
(What's  in  a  name?) 

The  Princess  May  consented. 

Ring!  ring  the  bells,  and  bring 

The  people  to  see  the  marrying! 

Let  the  gaunt  and  hungry  and  ragged  poor 

Throng  round  the  great  cathedral  door. 

To  wonder  what  all  the  hubbub's  for, 

And  sometimes  stupidly  wonder 
At  so  much  sunshine  and  brightness  which 
Fall  from  the  church  upon  the  rich, 

While  the  poor  get  all  the  thunder. 

Ring,  ring!  merry  bells,  ring! 

O  fortunate  few, 

With  letters  blue, 
Good  for  a  seat  and  a  nearer  view! 
Fortunate  few,  whom  I  dare  not  name; 
Dilettanti!     Creme   de  la   crime! 
We  commoners  stood  by  the  street  facade. 
And  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  cavalcade. 

We  saw  the  bride 

In  diamond  pride, 
168 


The  Diamond  Wedding 

With  jeweled  maidens  to  guard  her  side — 
Six  lustrous  maidens  in  tarletan. 
She  led  the  van  of  the  caravan; 

Close    behind    her,    her    mother 
(Dressed  in  gorgeous  moire  antique, 
That  told  as  plainly  as  words  could  speak} 
She  was  more  antique  than  the  other) 

Leaned  on  the  arm  of  Don  Rataplan 
Santa  Claus  de  la  Muscovado 
Sefior  Grandissimo  Bastinado. 

Happy  mortal!  fortunate  man! 
And  Marquis  of  El  Dorado! 

In  they  swept,  all  riches  and  grace, 

Silks  and  satins,  jewels  and  lace ; 

In  they  swept  from  the  dazzled  sun, 

And  soon  in  the  church  the  deed  was  done. 

Three  prelates  stood  on  the  chancel  high: 

A  knot  that  gold  and  silver  can  buy, 

Gold  and  silver  may  yet  untie, 

Unless  it  is  tightly  fastened; 
What's  worth  doing  at  all's  worth  doing  well; 
And  the  sale  of  a  young  Manhattan  belle 

Is  not  to  be  pushed  or  hastened; 
So  two  Very-Reverends  graced  the   scene, 
And  the  tall  Archbishop  stood  between, 

By  prayer  and  fasting  chastened. 
The  Pope  himself  would  have  come  from  Rome, 
But  Garibaldi  kept  him  at  home. 
Haply  these  robed  prelates  thought 
Their  words  were  the  power  that  tied  the  knot; 
But  another  power  that  love-knot  tied, 
1G9 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

And  I  saw  the  chain  round  the  neck  of  the  bride — 
A  glistening,  priceless,  marvelous  chain, 
Coiled  with  diamonds  again  and  again, 

As  befits  a  diamond  wedding; 
Yet  still  'twas  a  chain,  and  I  thought  she  knew  it, 
And  halfway  longed  for  the  will  to  undo  it, 

By  the  secret  tears  she  was  shedding. 

But  isn't  it  odd  to  think,  whenever 
We  all  go  through  that  terrible  River — 
Whose  sluggish  tide  alone  can  sever 
(The  Archbishop  says)  the  Church  decree, 
By  floating  one  in  to  Eternity 
And  leaving  the  other   alive  as  ever — 
As  each  wades  through  that  ghastly  stream, 
The  satins  that  rustle  and  gems  that  gleam, 
Will  grow  pale  and  heavy,  and  sink  away 
To  the  noisome   River's  bottom-clay! 
Then  the  costly  bride  and  her  maidens  six 
Will  shiver  upon  the  bank  of  the  Styx, 
Quite  as  helpless  as  they  were  born — 
Naked  souls,  and  very  forlorn; 
The  Princess,  then,  must  shift  for  herself, 
And  lay  her  royalty  on  the  shelf; 
She,  and  the  beautiful  Empress,  yonder, 
Whose  robes  are  now  the  wide  world's  wonder 
And  even  ourselves,  and  our  dear  little  wives, 
Who  calico  wear  each  morn  of  their  lives, 
And  the  sewing-girls,  and  les  chiffonniers, 
In  rags  and  hunger — a  gaunt  array — 
And  all  the  grooms  of  the  caravan — 
Ay,  even  the  great  Don  Rataplan 
170 


The  Diamond  Wedding 

Santa  Claus  de  la  Muscovado 
Sefior  Grandissimo  Bastinado — 
That  gold-encrusted,  fortunate  man — 
All  will  land  in  naked  equality: 
The  lord  of  a  ribboned  principality 

Will  mourn  the  loss  of  his  cordon; 
Nothing  to  eat  and  nothing  to  wear 
Will  certainly  be  the  fashion  there! 
Ten  to  one,  and  I'll  go  it  alone ; 
Those  most  used  to  a  rag  and  bone, 
Though  here  on  earth  they  labor  and  groan, 
Will  stand  it  best,  as  they  wade  abreast 

To  the  other  side  of  Jordan. 


When  Grant's  army  crossed  the  Rappahannock 
Lee's  veterans  felt  sure  of  sending  it  back  as 
"tattered  and  torn"  as  ever  it  had  been  under 
the  new  general's  numerous  predecessors.  After 
the  crossing,  the  first  prisoners  caught  by 
Mosby  were  asked  many  questions  by  curious 
Confederates. 

"What  has  become  of  your  pontoon  train?" 
said  one  such  inquirer. 

"We  haven't  got  any,"  answered  the  prisoner. 

"How  do  you  expect  to  get  over  the  river 
when  you  go  back?" 

"Oh,"  said  the  Yankee,  "we  are  not  going 
back.  Grant  says  that  all  the  men  he  sends 
back  can  cross  on  a  log." 


171 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL 

WHAT  MR.  ROBINSON  THINKS 

Guvener  B.  is  a  sensible  man; 

He  stays  to  his  home  an'  looks  arter  his  folks; 
He  draws  his  furrer  ez  straight  ez  he  can, 
An'   into   nobody's  tater-patch   pokes; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  wun't  vote  fer  Guvener  B. 

My!  ain't  it  terrible?     Wut  shall  we  du? 

We  can't  never  choose  him  o'  course — thet's 
flat; 
Guess  we  shall  hev  to  come  round  (don't  you?) 
An'  go  in  fer  thunder  an'  guns,  an'  all  that; 
Fer  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  wun't  vote  fer  Guvener  B. 

Gineral  0.  is  a  dreffle  smart  man: 

He's  ben  on  all  sides  thet  give  places  or  pelf; 
But  consistency  still  wuz  a  part  of  his  plan — 
He's  ben  true  to  one  party — an'  thet  is  himself; 
So  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  shall  vote  fer  Gineral  0. 
17^ 


What  Mr.  Robinson  Thinks 

Gineral  0.  he  goes  in  fer  the  war; 

He  don't  vally  principle  more'n  an  old  cud ; 
Wut  did  God  make  us  raytional  creeturs  fer, 
But  glory  an'  gunpowder,  plunder  an*  blood? 
So  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  he  shall  vote  fer  Gineral  0. 

We  were  gittin'  on  nicely  up  here  to  our  village, 

With  good  old  idees  o'  wut's  right  an'  wut  ain't, 

We  kind  o'  thought  Christ  went  agin  war  an 

pillage, 

An'  thet  eppyletts  worn't  the  best  mark  of  a 

saint ; 

But  John  P. 

Robinson  he 

Sez  this  kind  o'  thing's  an  exploded  idee. 

The  side  of  our  country  must  oilers  be  took, 
An'    President    Polk,    you    know,    he    is    our 
country. 
An'  the  angel  thet  writes  all  our  sins  in  a  book 
Puts  the  debit  to  him,  an'  to  us  the  per  contry; 
An'  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  this  is  his  view  o'  the  things  to  a  T. 

Parson  Wilbur  he  calls  all  these  argimunts  lies; 
Sez  they're  nothin'  on  airth  but  jest  fee,  jaw, 
}um: 
An'  thet  all  this  big  talk  of  our  destinies 
Is  half  on  it  ign'ance  an'  to'other  half  rum; 
173 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez   it   ain't  no   sech  thing;  an',  of  course,   sc 
must  we. 

Parson  Wilbur  sez  he  never  heerd  in  his  life 

Thet  th'  Apostles  rigged  out  in  their  swaller- 
tail  coats, 
An'  marched  round  in  front  of  a  drum  an'  a  fife, 
To  git  some  on  'em  office,  and  some  on  'em 
votes ; 

But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  they  didn't  know  everythin'  down  in  Judee. 

Wal,  it's  a  marcy  we've  got  folks  to  tell  us. 
The  rights  an'  the  wrongs  o'  these  matters,  I 
vow — 
God  sends  country  lawyers,  an'  other  wise  fellers, 
To  start  the  world's  team  w'en  it  gits  in  a 
slough ; 

Fer  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  the  world '11  go  right,  ef  he  hollers  out  Gee! 


Old  Gentleman  (to  driver  of  street-car):  "My 
friend,  what  do  you  do  with  your  wages  every 
week — put  part  of  it  in  the  savings  bank?" 

Driver:  "No,  sir.     After  payin'  the    butcher 
an'  grocer  an'  rent,  I  pack  away  what's  left  in 
barrels.     I'm  'fraid  of  them  savings  banks." 
174 


MUSIC  BY  THE  CHOIR 

After  the  church  organist  had  played  a 
voluntary,  introducing  airs  from  "1492"  and 
"The  Black  Crook" — which,  of  course,  were  not 
recognized  by  the  congregation — the  choir  arose 
for  its  first  anthem  of  the  morning. 

The  choir  was  made  up  of  two  parts,  a  quar- 
tette and  a  chorus.  The  former  occupied  seats 
in  the  front  row — because  the  members  were 
paid.  The  chorus  was  grouped  about,  and  made 
a  somewhat  striking  as  well  as  startling  picture. 
There  were  some  who  could  sing;  some  who 
thought  they  could;  and  there  were  others. 

The  leader  of  this  aggregation  was  the  tenor 
of  the  quartette.  He  was  tall,  but  his  neck  was 
responsible  for  considerable  of  his  extreme  height. 
Because  he  was  paid  to  lead  that  choir  he  gave 
the  impression  to  those  who  saw  him  that  he  was 
cutting  some  ice.  A  greater  part  of  his  contor- 
tions were  lost  because  the  audience  did  not  face 
the  choir. 

The  organist  struck  a  few  chords,  and  without 
any  preliminary  wood-sawing  the  choir  squared 
itself  for  action.  Of  course,  there  were  a  few  who 
did  not  find  the  place  till  after  rising — this  is  so 
in  all  choirs — but  finally  all  appeared  to  be  ready. 
The  leader  let  out  another  link  in  his  neck,  and 
while  his  head  was  taking  a  motion  similar  to  a 
hen's  when  walking,  the  choir  broke  loose. 
This  is  what  it  sang: 

' '  Abide-e-e — bide  —  ab — abide  — with  —  abide 
175 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

with — bide — a-a-a-a-bide — me — with  m-e-e  -e — • 
abide  with — with  me — fast — f-a-a-s-t  falls — abide 
fast  the  even — fast  fa-a-a-lls  the — abide  with  me 
— eventide — falls  the  e-e-eventide — fast — the — 
the  dark — the  darkness  abide — the  darkness 
deepens — Lor-r-d  with  me-e-e — Lord  with  me 
—  deepens  —  Lord  —  Lord — darkness  deepens  — 
wi-i-th  me — Lord  with  me — me  a-a-a-a-a-abide.'" 

That  was  the  first  verse. 

There  were  three  others. 

Every  one  is  familiar  with  the  hymn,  hence  it  ia 
not  necessary  to  line  the  verses. 

During  the  performance,  some  who  had  not  at- 
tended the  choir  rehearsal  the  Thursday  evening 
previous  were  a  little  slow  in  spots.  During  the 
passage  of  these  spots  some  would  move  their 
lips  and  not  utter  a  sound,  while  others — particu- 
larly the  ladies — found  it  convenient  to  feel  of 
their  back  hair  or  straighten  their  hats.  Each 
one  who  did  this  had  a  look  as  if  she  could 
honestly  say,  "I  could  sing  that  if  I  saw  fit" 
■ — and  the  choir  sang  on. 

But  when  there  came  a  note,  a  measure  or  a 
bar  with  which  all  were  familiar,  what  a  grand 
rolume  of  music  burst  forth.  It  didn't  happen 
this  way  many  times,  because  the  paid  singers 
were  supposed  to  do  the  greater  part  of  the  work. 
And  the  others  were  willing. 

At  one  point,  after  a  breathing  spell — or  a  rest, 

as  musicians  say — the  tenor  started  alone.     He 

didn't  mean  to.     But  by  this  break  the  deacons 

discovered  that  he  was  in  the  game  and  earning 

176 


Music  by  the  Choir 

his  salary.  The  others  caught  him  at  the  first 
quarter,  however,  and  away  they  went  again, 
neck  and  neck.  Before  they  finished,  several 
had  changed  places.  Sometimes  "Abide"  was 
ahead,  and  sometimes  "Lord,"  but  on  the  whole 
it  was  a  pretty  even  thing. 

Then  the  minister — he  drew  a  salary,  also — 
read  something  out  of  the  Bible,  after  which — 
as  they  say  in  the  newspapers — "there  was 
another  well-rendered  selection  by  the  choir." 

This  spasm  was  a  tenor  solo  with  chorus 
accompaniment.  This  was  when  he  of  the  long 
neck  got  in  his  deadly  work.  The  audience  faced 
the  choir  and  the  salaried  soloist  was  happy. 

When  the  huddling  had  ceased,  the  soloist 
stepped  a  trifle  to  the  front  and,  with  the  con- 
fidence born  of  a  man  who  stands  pat  on  four 
aces,  gave  a  majestic  sweep  of  his  head  toward 
the  organist.  He  said  nothing,  but  the  move- 
ment implied,  "Let  'er  go,  Gallagher." 

Gallagher  was  on  deck  and  after  getting  his 
patent  leather  shoes  well  braced  on  the  sub-bass 
pedals,  he  knotted  together  a  few  chords,  and  the 
soloist  was  off.  His  selection  was — that  is, 
verbatim, 

"Ge-yide  me,  ge-yide  me,  ge-yide  me,  0-, 
Thor-or-gra-ut  Jaw-aw-hars-vah, 
Pi-U-grum    thraw-aw    this   baw-aw-raw-en    larnd.a 

And  he  sang  other  things. 

He  was  away  up  in  G.  He  diminuendoed, 
struck  a  cantabile  movement,  slid  up  over  a 
crescendo,  tackled  a  second  ending  by  mistake— 
177 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

but  it  went — caught  his  second  wind  on  a 
moderato,  signified  his  desire  for  a  raise  in  salary 
on  a  trill,  did  some  brilliant  work  on  a  maestoso, 
reached  high  C  with  ease,  went  down  into  the 
bass  clef  and  climbed  out  again,  quavered  and 
held,  did  sixteen  notes  by  the  handful — payable 
on  demand — waltzed  along  a  minor  passage, 
gracefully  turned  the  dal  segno,  skipped  a  chro- 
matic run,  did  the  con  expressione  act  worthy  of 
a  De  Reszke,  poured  forth  volumes  on  a  measure 
bold,  broke  the  centre  of  an  andante  passage  for 
three  yards,  retarded  to  beat  the  band,  came 
near  getting  applause  on  a  cadenza,  took  a  six- 
barred  triplet  without  turning  a  hair — then  sat 
down. 

Between  whiles  the  chorus  had  been  singing 
something  else.  The  notes  bumped  against  the 
oiled  natural-wood  rafters — it  was  a  modern 
church — ricochetted  over  the  memorial  windows, 
clung  lovingly  to  the  new  $200  chandelier,  floated 
along  the  ridgepole,  patted  the  bald-headed 
deacons  fondly,  and  finally  died  away  in  a  bunch 
of  contribution  boxes  in  the  corner. 

Then  the  minister  preached. 


A  Chicago  man  who  has  recently  returned 
from  Europe  was  asked  by  a  friend  what  he 
thought  of  Rome. 

"Well,"  he  replied,  "Rome  is  a  fair-sized  town, 
but  I  couldn't  help  but  think  when  I  was  there 
that  she  had  seen  her  best  days." 
178 


MARK  TWAIN 

THE     NOTORIOUS    JUMPING     FROG     OF 
CALAVERAS    COUNTY* 

In  compliance  with  the  request  of  a  friend  of 
mine,  who  wrote  me  from  the  East,  I  called  on 
good-natured,  garrulous  old  Simon  Wheeler, 
and  inquired  after  my  friend's  friend,  Leonidas 
W.  Smiley,  as  requested  to  do,  and  I  hereunto 
append  the  result.  I  have  a  lurking  suspicion 
that  Leonidas  W.  Smiley  is  a  myth;  that  my 
friend  never  knew  such  a  personage ;  and  that  he 
only  conjectured  that  if  I  asked  old  Wheeler 
about  him,  it  would  remind  him  of  his  infamous 
Jim  Smiley,  and  he  would  go  to  work  and  bore  mc 
to  death  with  some  exasperating  reminiscence 
of  him  as  long  and  as  tedious  as  it  should  be 
useless  to  me.  If  that  was  the  design,  it  suc- 
ceeded. 

I  found  Simon  Wheeler  dozing  comfortably 
by  the  bar-room  stove  of  the  dilapidated  tavern 
in  the  decayed  mining  camp  of  Angel's,  and  I 
noticed  that  he  was  fat  and  bald-headed,  and 
had  an  expression  of  winning  gentleness  and 
simplicity  upon  his  tranquil  countenance.  He 
roused  up  and  gave  me  good  day.  I  told  him 
a  friend  of  mine  had  commissioned  me  to  make 
some  inquiries  about  a  cherished  companion 
*By  permission  of  the  American  Publishing  Company. 
179 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

of  his  boyhood  named  Leonidas  W.  Smiley — 
Reverend  Leonidas  W.  Smiley,  a  young  minister 
of  the  Gospel,  who  he  had  heard  was  at  one 
time  a  resident  of  Angel's  Camp.  I  added  that 
if  Mr.  Wheeler  could  tell  me  anything  about 
this  Reverend  Leonidas  W.  Smiley  I  would  feel 
under  many  obligations  to  him. 

Simon  Wheeler  backed  me  into  a  corner  and 
blockaded  me  there  with  his  chair,  and  then  sat 
down  and  reeled  off  the  monotonous  narrative 
which  follows  this  paragraph.  He  never  smiled, 
he  never  frowned,  he  never  changed  his  voice 
from  the  gentle-flowing  key  to  which  he  tuned 
his  initial  sentence,  he  never  betrayed  the  slight- 
est suspicion  of  enthusiasm ;  but  all  through  the 
interminable  narrative  there  ran  a  vein  of  im- 
pressive earnestness  and  sincerity  which  showed 
me  plainly  that,  so  far  from  his  imagining  that 
there  was  anything  ridiculous  or  funny  about 
his  story,  he  regarded  it  as  a  really  important 
matter,  and  admired  its  two  heroes  as  men  of 
transcendent  genius  in  finesse.  I  let  him  go  on 
in  his  own  way,  and  never  interrupted  him  once. 

Reverend  Leonidas  W.  H'm,  Reverend 
Le — well,  there  was  a  feller  here  once  by  the 
name  of  Jim  Smile}',  in  the  winter  of  '49 — or 
maybe  it  was  the  spring  of  '50 — I  don't  recol- 
lect exactly,  somehow,  though  what  makes  me 
think  it  was  one  or  the  other  is  because  I  remem- 
ber the  big  flume  warn't  finished  when  he  first 
come  to  the  camp;  but  anyway,  he  was  the 
curiosest  man  about  always  betting  on  anything 
180 


The  Jumping  Frog 

that  turned  up  you  ever  see,  if  he  could  get 
anybody  to  bet  on  the  other  side;  and  if  he 
couldn't  he'd  change  sides.  Any  way  what 
suited  the  other  man  would  suit  him — any  way 
just  so's  he  got  a  bet,  he  was  satisfied.  But 
still  he  was  lucky,  uncommon  lucky;  he  most 
always  come  out  winner.  He  was  always 
ready  and  laying  for  a  chance;  there  couldn't 
be  no  solit'ry  thing  mentioned  but  that  feller 'd 
offer  to  bet  on  it,  and  take  ary  side  you  please, 
as  I  was  just  telling  you.  If  there  was  a  horse- 
race, you'd  find  him  flush  or  you'd  find  him 
busted  at  the  end  of  it ;  if  there  was  a  dog-fight, 
he'd  bet  on  it;  if  there  was  a  cat-fight,  he'd  bet 
on  it;  if  there  was  a  chicken-fight,  he'd  bet  on  it; 
why,  if  there  was  two  birds  setting  on  a  fence, 
he  would  bet  you  which  one  would  fly  first;  or 
if  there  was  a  camp-meeting  he  would  be  there 
reg'lar  to  bet  on  Parson  Walker,  which  he  judged 
to  be  the  best  exhorter  about  here,  and  so  he 
was  too,  and  a  good  man.  If  he  even  see  a 
straddle-bug  start  to  go  anywhere,  he  would  bet 
how  long  it  would  take  him  to  get  to — to  wher- 
ever he  was  going  to,  and  if  you  took  him  up, 
he  would  foller  that  straddle-bug  to  Mexico  but 
what  he  would  find  out  where  he  was  bound  for 
and  how  long  he  was  on  the  road.  Lots  of  the 
boys  here  has  seen  that  Smiley  and  can  tell  you 
about  him.  Why,  it  never  made  no  difference 
to  him — he'd  bet  on  anything — the  dangdest 
feller.  Parson  Walker's  wife  laid  very  sick  once 
for  a  good  while,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they  warn't 
181 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

going  to  save  her;  but  one  morning  he  come  in, 
and  Smiley  up  and  asked  him  how  she  was,  and 
he  said  she  was  considable  better — thank  the 
Lord  for  His  inf'nite  mercy — and  coming  on  so 
smart  that  with  the  blessing  of  Prov'dence 
she'd  get  well  yet ;  and  Smiley,  before  he  thought, 
says,  "Well,  I'll  resk  two-and-a-half  she  don't 
anyway." 

Thish-yer  Smiley  had  a  mare — the  boys 
called  her  the  fifteen-minute  nag,  but  that  was 
only  in  fun,  you  know,  because  of  course  she  was 
faster  than  that— and  he  used  to  win  money  on 
that  horse,  for  all  she  was  slow  and  always  had 
the  asthma,  or  the  distemper,  or  the  consump- 
tion, or  something  of  that  kind.  They  used  to 
give  her  two  or  three  hundred  yards  start,  and 
then  pass  her  under  way;  but  always  at  the  fag 
end  of  the  race  she'd  get  excited  and  desperate 
like,  and  come  cavorting  and  straddling  up,  and 
scattering  her  legs  around  limber,  sometimes  in 
the  air  and  sometimes  out  to  one  side  among 
the  fences,  and  kicking  up  m-o-r-e  dust  and 
raising  m-o-r-e  racket  with  her  coughing  and 
sneezing  and  blowing  her  nose — and  always  fetch 
up  at  the  stand  just  about  a  neck  ahead,  as  near 
as  you  could  cipher  it  down. 

And  he  had  a  little  small  bull-pup,  that  to  look 
at  him  you'd  think  he  warn't  worth  a  cent  but 
to  set  around  and  look  ornery  and  lay  for  a 
chance  to  steal  something.  But  as  soon  as 
money  was  up  on  him  he  was  a  different  dog; 
his  under-jaw'd  begin  to  stick  out  like  the 
182 


The  Jumping  Frog 

fn 'castle  of  a  steamboat,  and  his  teeth  would 
uncover  and  shine  like  the  furnaces.  And  a 
dog  might  tackle  him  and  bully-rag  him,  and 
bite  him,  and  throw  him  over  his  shoulder  two 
or  three  times,  and  Andrew  Jackson — which  was 
the  name  of  the  pup — Andrew  Jackson  would 
never  let  on  but  what  he  was  satisfied,  and  hadn't 
expected  nothing  else — and  the  bets  being 
doubled  and  doubled  on  the  other  side  all  the 
time,  till  the  money  was  all  up;  and  then  all  of  a 
sudden  he  would  grab  that  other  dog  just  by 
the  j'int  of  his  hind  leg  and  freeze  to  it — not 
chaw,  you  understand,  but  only  just  grip  and 
hang  on  till  they  throwed  up  the  sponge,  if  it 
was  a  year.  Smiley  always  come  out  winner 
on  that  pup,  till  he  harnessed  a  dog  once  that 
didn't  have  no  hind  legs,  because  they'd  been 
sawed  off  in  a  circular  saw,  and  when  the  thing 
had  gone  along  far  enough,  and  the  money  was 
all  up,  and  he  come  to  make  a  snatch  for  his  pet 
holt,  he  see  in  a  minute  how  he'd  been  imposed 
on,  and  how  the  other  dog  had  him  in  the  door, 
so  to  speak,  and  he  'peared  surprised,  and  then 
he  looked  sorter  discouraged-like,  and  didn't 
try  no  more  to  win  the  fight,  and  so  he  got 
shucked  out  bad.  He  give  Smiley  a  look,  as 
much  as  to  say  his  heart  was  broke,  and  it  was 
his  fault,  for  putting  up  a  dog  that  hadn't  no  hind 
legs  for  him  to  take  holt  of,  which  was  his  main 
dependence  in  a  fight,  and  then  he  limped  off 
a  piece  and  laid  down  and  died.  It  was  a  good 
pup,  was  that  Andrew  Jackson,  and  would  have 
183 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

rnade»a  name  for  hisself  if  he'd  lived,  for  the  stuff 
*..  is  in  him  and  he  had  genius — I  know  it, 
because  he  hadn't  no  opportunities  to  speak  of, 
and  it  don't  stand  to  reason  that  a  dog  could 
make  such  a  fight  as  he  could  under  them  cir- 
cumstances if  he  hadn't  no  talent.  It  always 
makes  me  feel  sorry  when  I  think  of  that  last 
fight  of  his'n,  and  the  way  it  turned  out. 

Well,  thish-yer  Smiley  had  rat-tarriers,  and 
chicken  cocks,  and  tom-cats,  and  all  them  kind 
of  things  till  you  couldn't  rest,  and  you  couldn't 
fetch  nothing  for  him  to  bet  on  but  he'd  match 
you.  He  ketched  a  frog  one  day,  and  took  him 
home,  and  said  he  cal'lated  to  educate  him; 
and  so  he  never  done  nothing  for  three  months 
but  set  in  his  back  yard  and  learn  that  frog  to 
jump.  And  you  bet  you  he  did  learn  him,  too. 
He'd  give  him  a  little  punch  behind,  and  the 
next  minute  you'd  see  that  frog  whirling  in  the 
air  like  a  doughnut — see  him  turn  one  summer- 
set, or  maybe  a  couple,  if  he  got  a  good  start, 
and  come  down  flat-footed  and  all  right,  like  a 
cat.  He  got  him  up  so  in  the  matter  of  ketching 
flies,  and  kep'  him  in  practice  so  constant,  that 
he'd  nail  a  fly  every  time  as  fur  as  he  could  see 
him.  Smiley  said  all  a  frog  wanted  was  educa- 
tion and  he  could  do  'most  anything — and  I 
believe  him.  Why,  I've  Been  him  set  Dan'l 
Webster  down  here  on  this  floor — Dan'l  Webster 
was  the  name  of  the  frog  —  and  sing  out,  "Flies, 
Daniel,  flies! "  and  quicker'n  you  could  wink  he'd 
spring  straight  up  and  snake  a  fly  off*n  the 
1S4, 


The  Jumping  Frog 

counter  there,  and  flop  down  on  the  floor  ag'in 
as  solid  as  a  gob  of  mud,  and  fall  to  scratching 
the  side  of  his  head  with  his  hind  foot  as  indiffer- 
ent as  if  he  hadn't  no  idea  he'd  been  doin'  any 
more'n  a  frog  might  do.  You  never  see  a  frog 
so  modest  and  straightfor'ard  as  he  was,  for  all 
he  was  so  gifted.  And  when  it  come  to  fair  and 
square  jumping  on  a  dead  level,  he  could  get 
over  more  ground  at  one  straddle  than  any 
animal  of  his  breed  you  ever  see.  Jumping  on  a 
dead  level  was  his  strong  suit,  you  understand; 
and  when  it  come  to  that,  Smiley  would  ante  up 
money  on  him  as  long  as  he  had  a  red.  Smiley 
was  monstrous  proud  of  his  frog,  and  well  he 
might  be,  for  fellers  that  had  traveled  and  been 
everywheres  all  said  he  laid  over  any  frog  that 
ever  they  see. 

Well,  Smiley  kep'  the  beast  in  a  little  lattice 
box,  and  he  used  to  fetch  him  downtown  some- 
times and  lay  for  a  bet.  One  day  a  feller — a 
stranger  in  the  camp,  he  was — come  acrost  him 
with  his  box,  and  says: 

"What  might  it  be  that  you've  got  in  the  box?" 

And  Smiley  says,  sorter  indifferent-like,  "It 
might  be  a  parrot,  or  it  might  be  a  canary, 
maybe,  but  it  ain't — it's  only  just  a  frog." 

And  the  feller  took  it,  and  looked  at  it  careful, 
and  turned  it  round  this  way  and  that,  and 
says,  "H'm— so  'tis.     Well,  what's  he  good  for?" 

"Well,"  Smiley  says,  easy  and  careless, 
"he's  good  enough  for  one  thing,  I  should  judge — 
he  can  out  jump  any  frog  in  Calaveras  County." 
185 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

The  feller  took  the  box  again,  and  took  another 
long,  particular  look,  and  give  it  back  to  Smiley, 
and  says,  very  deliberate,  "Weil,"  he  says, 
"I  don't  see  no  pints  about  that  frog  that's 
any  better'n  any  other  frog  " 

"Maybe  you  don't,"  Smiley  says.  "Maybe 
you  understand  frogs  and  maj'be  you  don't 
understand  'em;  maybe  you've  had  experience, 
and  maybe  you  ain't  only  a  amature,  as  it  were, 
Anyways,  I've  got  my  opinion,  and  I'll  resk 
forty  dollars  that  he  can  out  jump  any  frog  in 
Calaveras  County." 

And  the  feller  studied  a  minute,  and  then 
says,  kinder  sad  like,  "Well,  I'm  only  a  stranger 
here,  and  I  ain't  got  no  frog,  but  if  I  had  a  frog 
I'd  bet  you." 

And  then  Smiley  says,  "That's  all  right, 
that's  all  right — if  you'll  hold  my  box  a  minute 
I'll  go  and  get  you  a  frog."  And  so  the  feller 
took  the  box,  and  put  up  his  forty  dollars  along 
with  Smiley's,  and  set  down  to  wait. 

So  he  set  there  a  good  while  thinking  and 
thinking  to  himself,  and  then  he  got  the  frog  out 
and  prized  his  mouth  open  and  took  a  teaspoon 
and  filled  him  full  of  quail  shot — filled  him  pretty 
near  up  to  his  chin — and  set  him  on  the  floor. 
Smiley  he  went  to  the  swamp  and  slopped 
around  in  the  mud  for  a  long  time,  and  finally 
he  ketched  a  frog,  and  fetched  him  in,  and 
give  him  to  this  feller,  and  says: 

"Now,  if  you're  ready,  set  him  alongside  of 
Dan'l,  with  his  forepaws  just  even  with  Dan'l's, 
186 


The  Jumping  Frog 

and  I'll  give  the  word."  Then  he  says,  "One — 
two — three — git!"  and  him  and  the  feller 
touched  up  the  frogs  from  behind,  and  the  new 
frog  hopped  off  lively,  but  Dan'l  give  a  heave 
and  hysted  up  his  shoulders — so — like  a  French- 
man, but  it  warn't  no  use — he  couldn't  budge; 
he  was  planted  as  solid  as  a  church,  and  he 
couldn't  no  more  stir  than  if  he  was  anchored 
out.  Smiley  was  a  good  deal  surprised,  and  he 
was  disgusted  too,  but  he  didn't  have  no  idea 
what  the  matter  was,  of  course. 

The  feller  took  the  money  and  started  away; 
and  when  he  was  going  out  at  the  door,  he  sorter 
jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder — so — at 
Dan'l,  and  says  again,  very  deliberate,  "Well," 
he  says,  "7  don't  see  no  p'ints  about  that  frog 
that's  any  better  'n  any  other  frog." 

Smiley  he  stood  scratching  his  head  and  lookin' 
down  at  Dan'l  a  long  time,  and  at  last  he  says, 
"I  do  wonder  what  in  the  nation  that  frog 
throw'd  off  for — I  wonder  if  there  ain't  some- 
thing the  matter  with  him — he  'pears  to  look 
mighty  baggy,  somehow."  And  he  ketched 
Dan'l  by  the  nap  of  the  neck,  and  hefted  him, 
and  says,  "Why,  blame  my  cats  if  he  don't 
weigh  five  pound!"  and  turned  him  upside 
down  and  he  belched  out  a  double  handful  of 
shot.  And  then  he  see  how  it  was,  and  he  was 
the  maddest  man — he  set  the  frog  down  an 
took  out  after  that  feller,  bvit  he  never  ketched 
him.     And 

Here  Simon  Wheeler  heard  his  name  called 
187 


Masterpieces  of  Humor 

from  the  front  yard,  and  got  up  to  see  what 
was  wanted.  And  turning  to  me  as  he  moved 
away,  he  said :  "Just  set  where  you  are,  stranger, 
and  rest  easy — I  ain't  going  to  be  gone  a  second." 

But  by  your  leave,  I  did  not  think  that  a 
continuation  of  the  history  of  the  enterprising 
vagabond  Jim  Smiley  would  be  likely  to  afford 
me  much  information  concerning  the  Reverend 
Leonidas  W.  Smiley,  and  so  I  started  away. 

At  the  door  I  met  the  sociable  Wheeler  return- 
ing, and  he  buttonholed  me  and  recommenced: 

"Well,  thish-yer  Smiley  had  a  yaller,  one- 
eyed  cow  that  didn't  have  no  tail,  only  just  a 
short  stump  like  a  bannanner,  and *' 

However,  lacking  both  time  and  inclination,  I 
did  not  wait  to  hear  about  the  afflicted  cow,  but 
took  my  leave. 


188 


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